courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. 4 mar. 20, 1909 five cents motor matt's race the last flight of the comet _by stanley r. matthews_ [illustration: "i've got it, pard!" shouted chub, snatching the letter from motor matt's fingers.] _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. 4. new york, march 20, 1909. price five cents. motor matt's race or, the last flight of the _comet_. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. trouble on the road. chapter ii. the stampede. chapter iii. clip's note. chapter iv. m'kibben's tip. chapter v. a victim of circumstances. chapter vi. the pride of tom clipperton. chapter vii. laying plans. chapter viii. the rifled cache. chapter ix. the break in the road. chapter x. prescott. chapter xi. matt makes a new move. chapter xii. the old hopewell tunnel. chapter xiii. quick work. chapter xiv. steam versus gasoline. chapter xv. in court. chapter xvi. conclusion. the tennis-ground mystery. make queer catches at cape cod. cold fire. 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." =tom clipperton=, known generally as "clip," a quarter-blood, who is very sensitive about his indian ancestry. =mckibben=, the sheriff who has both nerve and intelligence. =fresnay=, a cowboy who performs some mighty queer stunts. =pima pete=, an indian to whom clip is related. =hogan=, } =leffingwell=, } two deputy sheriffs. =short=, a lawyer. =burke=, sheriff of an adjoining county. =jack moody=, an engineer friend of chub. chapter i. trouble on the road. "ye're afeared! yah, that's what ye are! motor matt's scared, an' i never thought ye was afeared o' nothin'. go ahead! i dare ye!" an automobile--a high-powered roadster--was nosing along through the hills a dozen miles out of the city of phoenix. the vehicle had the usual two seats in front and a rumble-seat behind--places for three, but there were four piled aboard. matt king was in the driver's seat, of course, and equally, of course, he had to have the whole seat to himself. on his left were chub mcready and tom clipperton, sitting sideways and wedged into their places like sardines in a can. in the rumble behind was the gentleman with the wooden leg--welcome perkins, the "reformed road-agent." matt was giving his friends a ride. the red roadster, in which they were taking the spin, was an unclaimed car at present in the custody of mckibben, the sheriff. it had been used for lawless work by its original owners, and had fallen into the hands of the sheriff, who was holding it in the hope that the criminals would come forward and claim it.[a] [a] see motor matt weekly, no. 3, "motor matt's 'century' run; or, the governor's courier." mckibben and motor matt were the best of friends, and mckibben had told matt to take the red roadster out for "exercise" whenever he felt like it. directly after dinner, that day, they had started from the mcready home in phoenix. it was now about half-past one, and they were jogging at a leisurely pace through the foot-hills. welcome, on account of his wooden leg and the necessity of having plenty of room, had been given the rumble-seat. he was standing up most of the time, however, leaning over the back of the seat in front of him, and telling motor matt how to drive the car. that was the third time the old man had ever been in an automobile, but to hear him talk you'd have thought there wasn't anything about the machine that was new to him. his constant clamor was for more speed, and matt had no intention of taking chances with a borrowed car when a leisurely pace was entirely satisfactory to himself and his two chums, clip and chub. "oh, slush!" grunted chub, as welcome leaned forward and dared motor matt to "hit er up." "you'd be scared to death, welcome, if matt put on full speed and hit only a high place here and there. sit down an' shut up, or we'll drop you into the road. i wouldn't mind having that seat of yours myself; eh, clip?" "free kentry, ain't it?" snapped welcome. "you ain't got no call ter sot down on me, chub mcready, if i want to talk. go on," he added to matt; "pull the plug out o' the carburetter an' hit the magneto a lick jest fer luck." this was a sample of welcome's knowledge. chub let off a delighted yell. "yes," he laughed, "an' while you're about it, matt, strip the planetary transmission an' short-circuit the spark-plug. give welcome all he wants! make him sit down, hang on with both hands and bite hard on his store-teeth." "when you're running a car that don't belong to you, fellows," said matt, "it's best to be on the safe side." "sure," agreed clip. "we're going fast enough. no need to rush things." "ye're all afeared!" taunted welcome. "snakes alive, i could walk a heap faster'n what we're goin'. d'ruther walk, enough sight, if ye ain't goin' any faster'n this. this here ottermobill is an ole turtle. i hadn't ort ter brag about it, but when i was young an' lawless, i was that swift i could hold up a stage, then ride twenty miles an' hold up another, an' clean up the operation complete inside of an hour." "it wasn't much of a day for hold-ups, either," spoke up chub gravely. "anyways, that's what i done, smarty," snorted welcome, "but i didn't use no ottermobill--jest a plain hoss with four legs." "must have had six legs," said clip. "couldn't have gone that fast on a horse with only four." "now _you_ butt in," snarled welcome. "goin' to put the clutch on the cylinders, matt," he added, "an' advance the spark a couple o' feet? if y'ain't, i'm goin' to git out an' walk home. it's only five hours till supper, an' we must be all o' twelve miles from town." "you see, welcome," explained matt, with a wink at chub and clip, "it wouldn't do to put the clutch on the cylinders, for i'd strip the gear; and if i advanced the spark more'n a foot i'd burn out the carburetter." "d'ye reckon i didn't know that?" demanded welcome indignantly. "why, i kin fergit more about these here ottermobill's in a minit than some fellers knows in a year. but, say! what's that thing off to the side o' the road? looks like a gila monster." all three of the boys turned their eyes swiftly to the roadside. the next instant welcome had leaned far over, gripped the long lever at matt's side and shoved it as far as he could. they had been on the low gear; that put them on the high with a jump, and the red roadster flung madly ahead. matt shifted his eyes from the side of the road just in time to see welcome sail out of the rumble, turn a half somersault and land, astonished, in a sitting posture in the road. both chub and clip had had a scare, the sudden plunge of the machine having made them grab each other, and they only missed going over the side by a hair's breadth. as quickly as he could, matt brought the lever to an upright position and pressed the primary foot-brake. "the old freak!" shouted chub, as the car came to a halt. "he came within one of putting the lot of us overboard. if he had two good legs, i'm a farmer if we wouldn't make him walk back to town for that!" "if he don't agree to sit quiet in the rumble and enjoy the scenery," said matt, "we'll make him walk, anyway. i won't allow any one to mix up with the machinery as long as i'm doing the driving." welcome must have received quite a jolt. for a second or two he acted as though he were dazed; then he slowly gathered in his hat, got upright and shook his fist at those in the car. "dad-bing!" he yelled. "ye done it a-purpose, ye know ye did." "well, what do you think of that!" muttered chub. "ye jest coaxed me out in that ole buzz-wagon ter hev fun with me," ranted welcome. "wonder ye didn't break my neck, 'r somethin'. i hit the trail harder'n a brick house, an' if i wasn't as springy as injy-rubber i'd hev been scattered all around here like a chinese puzzle." "come on, welcome!" called matt. "but you've got to keep still and keep away from the machinery if you want to ride with us." "wouldn't ride in that ole cross between a kitchen stove an' a hay-rack fer a hunderd dollars a minit!" fumed welcome. "i've stood all i'm a-goin' to. ye've stirred up my lawlessness a-plenty, an' i'm goin' to hide out beside the road an' hold up the montezuma stage when it comes through. ye'll hear about it to-night, in town, an' then ye'll be sorry ye treated me like ye done. if ye got bizness any place else, hit yer ole gasoline-tank a welt an' don't let me detain ye a minit." rubbing the small of his back and muttering to himself, the old man started along the road in the direction of town. "let him walk a spell," said chub in a low tone. "he wants us to coax him to get back in; let's make him think we're taking him at his word." "all right," laughed matt, who knew the eccentric old man as well as anybody, "we'll lag along into the hills for a mile or two, and then come back. i guess welcome will be glad enough to get in by that time." chub got out and scrambled into the rumble. the machine took the spark without cranking and the red roadster started off. "so-long, perk!" shouted chub hilariously, standing up in the rumble and waving his hand. "tell susie, when you get home, that we'll straggle in by supper-time." the old man never looked around, but the way he stabbed the ground with his wooden pin showed how he felt. perhaps half a mile from the place where welcome had left the car the boys met a horseman riding at speed in the direction of town. the man drew rein for an instant. "turn around!" he yelled; "p'int the other way! can't ye hear 'em. thar's a stampede on, an' a thousand head o' cattle aire tearin' this way like an express-train! listen! if ye don't hike, they'll run right over ye!" startled exclamations escaped the boys. the cowboy's manner, quite as much as his words, aroused their alarm. the trail, for several miles in that particular part of the hills, was walled in on both sides by high, steep ground. this made a sort of chute of the road, so that those in charge of the cattle would not be able to get ahead of them and turn them. having given his warning and done what he could, the cowboy used his spurs and dashed on. at that moment a rumble of falling hoofs reached the ears of the boys, accompanied by the _click, click_ of knocking horns and a frenzied bellowing. "turn 'er, quick!" whooped chub. but the command was unnecessary. motor matt with a firm hand and a steady brain, was already manipulating the red roadster, backing and forging ahead in order to get faced the other way in the cramped space. meanwhile the ominous sounds, which came from around the base of a hill where the road described a sharp bend, had been growing in volume. just as the roadster jumped away on the back stretch the cattle began pouring around the foot of the hill. chapter ii. the stampede. it was the custom of the ranchers to keep their cattle in the hills until they were nearly ready for market, then drive them down into salt river valley, turn them into the alfalfa-fields and let them fatten before shipment. this herd of lean, brown cattle, wild as coyotes, had been started for the grass-lands of the valley. very little was required to start a panic among them, and this panic had hit them at the very worst place possible on the entire drive. with heads down, tongues protruding, foam flying from their open mouths, and horns knocking, the frenzied animals hurled themselves onward. even if the sight of the automobile had frightened them, there could be no turning back for the leaders of the herd, pressed as they were by the charging brutes in the rear. and, of course, the character of the roadside, at that point, prevented any turning out or scattering. all that lay between the boys and destruction was the speed of the car. if a tire blew up, or if anything went wrong with the machinery, the tidal wave of cattle would roll on over the car and its passengers. "we're in fer it, fellers!" shouted chub, who was in a good position to note the full extent of the danger. there was no hanging back on motor matt's part. he was on the high speed, and caressing the throttle-lever as he steered. "we're leaving 'em behind!" announced clip. "keep it up, matt." the red roadster was not only leaving the frightened herd behind, but was coming up with the cowboy, hand over fist. "we'll have to slow down!" called matt, between his clenched teeth, his flashing gray eyes straight ahead; "if we don't, we'll run over the man on the horse." just then they turned a bit of an angle that gave them a glimpse of welcome perkins. faint sounds of the uproar behind had reached the old man. planted in the middle of the road, he was staring back, wondering, no doubt, why the horseman was tearing along at such a rate of speed, and why the red roadster was letting itself out on the back track. but the old man was not kept long in doubt. through the haze of dust back of the automobile he saw the plunging cattle. the next moment he went straight up in the air with a terrified yell and made a dash for the side of the road. as fate would have it, the road at that point was hemmed in with banks too steep to be scaled; nevertheless, welcome clawed frantically at the rocks. "stand whar ye are!" roared the cowboy. "i'll take ye up with me." welcome's peril struck wild alarm to the hearts of the boys. they realized that if they had insisted on the old man getting into the car he would not now be in that terrible predicament. in order to get welcome up behind him the cowboy had to throw himself back on the bit and bring the horse to a quick halt. he leaned down to help welcome up, and welcome, who was almost as frenzied as the steers, gave a wild jump and grabbed saddle-horn and cantle. under his weight, and the weight of the cowboy, which was temporarily thrown on the same side, the saddle turned. welcome dropped into the road, and his would be rescuer pitched on top of him. the horse, thoroughly frightened, jumped away and continued his breakneck pace down the road. yells of consternation went up from chub and clip. matt had been obliged to bring the car almost to a halt while the cowboy was trying to pick up welcome. the leaders of the stampeding herd had come dangerously close. "they're on us!" whooped chub despairingly; "we're all done for!" "not yet," shouted matt, sending the car ahead toward the place where welcome and the cowboy were scrambling to their feet. "take 'em both aboard! quick on it, now, and we'll get away." the car rumbled up abreast of the two in the road. "jump in!" shouted clip; "hustle!" welcome threw himself into the front of the car and the cowboy made a flying leap for the rumble. clip grabbed one and chub caught the other. by then the foremost of the steers were almost nosing the rear of the car. matt, without losing an instant, threw the lever clear over, and the roadster flung away like an arrow from a bow, on the high speed; then, a second later, he opened the throttle and the six purring cylinders sent the car along at a gait that was double that of the pursuing cattle. "wow!" panted welcome, who had both arms around clip and was hanging to him like grim death. "keep holt o' me! i feel like every minute was goin' to be my next! slow down a leetle, can't ye? if ye don't we'll be upside down in the ditch! whoosh! i'd ruther take chances with them steers than ridin' a streak o' lightnin' like this. br-r-r!" welcome was getting all the fast riding he wanted. the red roadster whipped and slewed around the curves, and leaped like lightning across the straight-away stretches. matt, cool as a summer day and as steady as a clock, had eyes and ears for nothing but that terrible flight. two minutes sufficed to bring the car out of the hills and onto the level plains. "all right, pard!" cried chub from the rear; "slow down, now, whenever you please. the cowboys have got ahead of the herd and the leaders are beginning to mill." matt slowed the pace to a ten-mile gait, and welcome, with a gasp of relief, dropped in a limp huddle. "shade o' gallopin' dick!" he mumbled, pulling a sleeve across his dripping forehead. "i've been in snug corners a-plenty durin' my hootin', tootin' career, but dadbinged if i ever had a closter call than this here. when i uster ride," he added, with a sour look at the cowboy in the rumble, "fellers useter know how to cinch up their saddles so'st they _stay_." "the givin' way o' that saddle," returned the cowboy, "was the best thing that ever happened to us. if i'd got you aboard that cayuse, peg-leg, them cattle would hev nipped us, sure. the boss never could hev carried double an' got us out o' the way. this here devil-wagon," he finished, addressing the boys, "sartinly saved our scalps. i'm obliged ter ye fer what ye done." "where do those cattle belong?" asked chub. "to the fiddleback outfit, same as me. i'm josh fresnay, an' i'm ridin' to town with the ole man's check fer ten thousand in gold ter pay off at the ranch. got ter git ter the bank by three o'clock, 'r i won't be able ter git the money. i kin sojer back at any ole time ter-night, jest so'st the boys kin git their hooks on the dinero in the mornin'." chub introduced himself, matt, clip, and welcome. "ye don't mean ter say," cried fresnay, "that it's motor matt himself that made this devil-wagon cut that hole in the air?" "sure it is," laughed chub. "put him behind a motor an' you can bet your spurs there's somethin' doing." "waal, i reckon!" returned fresnay enthusiastically. "blamed few fellers in this part o' the kentry hevn't heerd o' motor matt. he's the one that ketched dangerfield, the feller that was smugglin' chinks inter the kentry, an' helped burke, the prescott sher'f, wind up the gang. shore i've heerd o' motor matt. put 'er thar, son!" and fresnay leaned over the back of the seat and offered matt his hand. the young motorist laughed as he gave the cowboy's hand a cordial shake. "it's easy to get talked about, fresnay," said he. "that's right!" declared the cowboy. "rob a bank, er save a gal from gittin' run over by a train--almost anythin'll do ter make yer name a household word. now, as fer me----" the cowboy broke off his remarks with a long whistle. he was standing in the rumble, holding himself upright by gripping the back of the two front seats. his eyes, traveling along the trail over the heads of matt and clip, had seen something which aroused his surprise and gratification. "waal, great horn spoons!" he cried. "if thar ain't ole beeswax, that cayuse o' mine, i'm a sinner! i'll be hornswoggled if i ain't playin' in luck, this trip. i'll be able ter git out now, mcready," he added to chub, "an' give ye a leetle more room." some distance away the horse was being held in the road. a tall man had the animal by the bridle. the man had a swarthy face, was roughly dressed, wore moccasins, and had evidently been footing it along the trail. as the red roadster came closer, matt stared at the man keenly, and a muttered exclamation escaped his lips. as he brought the car to a halt, matt's gaze swerved to clip. clip's eyes were like smoldering coals, and he was sitting rigidly erect. "feller looks like a half-breed," murmured welcome perkins. "got all the earmarks o' one. seein' as how he was travelin' afoot, it strikes me as some remarkable he didn't h'ist himself inter the saddle an' ride off with that hoss. half-breeds, as a rule, ain't got much regard fer other folk's property. mebby he was intendin' to. i see he's got the saddle back on top o' the hoss." fresnay tumbled out of the car and walked over to the half-breed. "hello, neighbor!" he called. "i see ye've caught up my hoss. he got away from me back there in the hills." the half-breed grunted, swept his eyes over the cowboy and then over those in the car, and stepped forward to lay the reins in fresnay's hand. "heap easy to ketch um," said he. clip and chub got out to stretch their legs. welcome gurgled delightedly as he sprawled himself in clip's seat. matt continued to watch the half-breed, but covertly. fresnay fished a silver dollar out of his pocket. "i ain't got much dinero about my clothes, neighbor," he observed, "but here's a cart-wheel fer yer trouble." the half-breed grabbed the dollar, spun it in the air, caught it as it came down, then slipped it into his pocket. as he drew out his hand, matt saw something in it that looked like a folded paper--perhaps a note. the half-breed tried to conceal the paper in his palm, and matt believed that he was the only one in the party who saw it. while fresnay was climbing to the back of the horse, the half-breed, tossing matt a significant look, brushed past clip and tucked the folded paper into his hand with a quick, stealthy movement, then whirled, left the trail and strode quickly away. clip, his eyes still burning and with a strange look crossing his face, hid the paper deftly in the pocket of his coat. "never did like a half-breed nohow," grunted welcome. "they ain't ter be depended on, an' i makes it a rule to walk around 'em just as i would a rattler." clip shot a glance of angry defiance at the garrulous old man. for the moment welcome had forgotten that clip was a quarter-blood, himself. chapter iii. clip's note. "mighty unsociable, that feller," laughed the cowboy, staring after the vanishing form of the half-breed. "waal," he added, "it was wuth a heap more'n a dollar ter hev him corral ole beeswax. you boys'll beat me inter phoenix, easy enough, but i got time ter jog along an' git thar by three. i'm a powerful obliged ter ye fer what ye done, an' if ever any o' ye need a friend, jest call on josh fresnay. so-long." chub and clip had climbed back into the car. all the boys shouted their good-bys to fresnay, and, after matt had "cranked up," the car sped away in the direction of phoenix. clip was silent and preoccupied, and matt attended quietly to his work of driving the car; but his thoughts were busy. while welcome jabbered in his usual strain, and chub flung back an occasional answer, matt's mind circled about the half-breed and the note. matt had recognized the half-breed at the first glance. he was none other than pima pete, and he was an uncle of clip's. but, what was infinitely worse, pete had been a member of a gang of smugglers headed by the notorious dangerfield. with a few others, pima pete had escaped at the time dangerfield and most of his gang had been captured. a reward of $1,000 each had been offered for the apprehension of every member of the lawless outfit, and this offer still held good so far as pima pete was concerned. that note which had been smuggled into clip's hand must have been of a good deal of importance, or pima pete would not have run the risk of capture in order to deliver it. when the boys reached town, clip got out of the car at the point nearest the place where he roomed, in the mexican quarter. chub and welcome were still in the car, and clip merely gave matt a significant look as he waved a good-by. matt knew that clip must be anxious to read the note and find out what his uncle had to say to him. chub and welcome got out in front of their home, and stood for a moment beside the car. "you've shut up like a clam, pard," remarked chub, with a curious look at matt. "what's the matter? anything gone crossways?" "what makes you think that, chub?" laughed matt. "don't a fellow ever do a little head-work except when things go crossways?" "everybody ain't shootin' off his mouth the hull blessed time like you, chub," put in welcome. "whenever you talk it's like a lot o' words rattlin' in a gourd. now, matt an' me's some diff'rent. by keepin' mum fer a while, we allers hev somethin' to say whenever we talk." "police!" grinned chub. "why, perk, you garrulous old parrot, you can talk more and say less than any man in arizona. when'll you be around again, matt?" "oh, i'll drop in on you to-morrow, some time. so-long!" matt returned the red roadster to mckibben's barn, where it was being kept, cleaned it up a little and made sure that everything was all right, then locked the barn door and left the key with mrs. mckibben. it was probably half-past four when he reached his boarding-place. as soon as he had dusted his clothes, and paid his respects to the wash-bowl, he dropped into a chair and fell to thinking, once more, about clip, pima pete, and the note. he had an idea that that note meant trouble for clip. it was a vague sort of feeling, but strong enough to make matt uncomfortable. pima pete had been a lawbreaker, and there was a reward out for him. being a relative of clip's, the half-breed was safe so far as clip and matt were concerned, but if any one who knew pima pete happened to see clip with him, there might be no end of trouble. thoroughly dissatisfied with the course events were taking, and not a little worried, matt went down to supper and sat through a half hour of incessant clatter from his landlady, mrs. spooner. when he got up from the table he had decided to find clip at once and get at the contents of pima pete's note. he went to his room after his hat, and when he opened the door there was clip in a rocking-chair by the window. the quarter-blood had slipped into the house and up-stairs to the room while matt had been eating his supper. "why, hello, old chap!" exclaimed matt. "i was just thinking about hunting you up." "hist!" warned clip. "not so loud, matt. maybe i shouldn't have come here. but i felt as though i just _had_ to talk with you." matt was "stumped." nevertheless, he was not slow in guessing that pima pete's note had something to do with clip's mysterious manner. "what's wrong, clip?" queried matt, lowering his voice and setting a chair closer to his chum. "matter enough. you saw what happened. when the cowboy got back his horse, i mean." "pima pete gave you a note." "that's it. not much gets away from you, matt. i was afraid chub and perkins might have seen it, too." "they didn't. i could swear to that." "you remember what dangerfield said when he was captured? that there was something he wanted you to do?" matt knitted his brows. he had not forgotten that. "i remember it, clip," said he; "and i remember, too, that i was to hear about the work through pima pete." "well, pima pete came to me. we're of the same blood, as you know." as usual, whenever he mentioned his mixed blood, a savage defiance blazed in clip's face. "i reckon that's why pete came to me. it would be easy for any one who knew him to give him away." "i wouldn't do that--on your account, clip." "sure you wouldn't. i know that. but pima pete don't. he saw us going into the hills in the automobile. then he wrote that note and waited for us to come back. he didn't dare enter the town. and he was taking chances, as it was. if that cowboy had happened to know him, pete's game would have been up." "did he tell you in the note about seeing us, and waiting for us to come back, clip?" asked matt. clip nodded. "where's the note?" "i burned it. got to be on the safe side, matt. pima pete's my uncle. i can't take any chances. are you willing to try what dangerfield wants done?" "if it's honest work, and i can help anybody by doing it, yes. but dangerfield was a lawbreaker, and i'd have to know all about the business before i took any hand in it." "there's ten thousand dollars in gold buried in the hills. it's cached near where pete met us. pete wants us to meet him out there to-night and get the gold. it's dangerfield's. pete says dangerfield earned it honestly. dangerfield's father is an old man, and lives in emmetsburg, iowa. we're to send six thousand dollars to emmetsburg, and pete, and you, and i are to divide the rest. that's the work." clip's keen eyes were fixed on matt's troubled face. matt was thinking hard and did not answer. "you don't like the work!" muttered clip. "i don't, and that's a fact, clip," returned matt. "that may be honest money, but how do we know? why didn't dangerfield tell the sheriff and let _him_ dig it up?" "the sheriff would turn it over to the prosecuting attorney. the government would confiscate it. you see, the federal lawyer would think it money dangerfield got for smuggling chinamen over the border." "well," said matt decisively, "if we fooled with that money we'd be apt to get our fingers burned. besides, it isn't a good thing to tangle up with pima pete. he's better off, and so are we, if we keep apart." a dark frown settled on clip's swarthy face. for several minutes he bent his head thoughtfully. "pete has to get his part of the money," said clip finally. "he can't get away to mexico until he has it." "if he knows where it is," suggested matt, "he could take it all." "yes--if he was an out-and-out thief." clip threw back his head and squared his shoulders. "he didn't reckon there was any harm helping dangerfield run a few chinks across the border. a whole lot of people think the same way." "that may be, clip," answered matt kindly, "but there's a law against it, and dangerfield and his men broke the law. that's put dangerfield in a hole, and it would put pima pete in a hole, too, if the officers knew he was skulking around near phoenix. take my advice, clip," matt added earnestly, dropping a hand on his chum's knee. "keep away from pete, just now. let him dig up the gold and send some of it to emmetsburg. there's no need of ringing you and me in on the deal." "you don't understand, matt. pete don't dare show himself anywhere. if you and i don't mix up with that gold, nothing will be done with it." matt puzzled his brain over the problem for several minutes. "i'll tell you, clip," said he finally, "you meet your uncle to-night, but do it carefully--understand? be sure no one sees you. let him tell you right where the gold is, and let him take a thousand of it, if he has to have it, and clear out. in two or three days, when your uncle has had time to get into mexico, i'll go to governor gaynor, lay the whole matter before him, and ask his advice. if he says for us to do what dangerfield wants, we'll do it. that's the best course. but don't you be with pima pete a minute longer than you have to." once more clip bowed his head. while he was thinking the matter over a rap fell on the door. starting up quickly, clip laid a finger on his lips, moved softly across the room and into a closet, pulling the door partly shut after him. all this secrecy of clip's matt did not think at all necessary; but clip was a queer fellow, although a fine one at heart, and doubly queer whenever anything connected with his ancestry came up. there was no time to argue with him, however, and matt stepped to the door and threw it open. mckibben, the sheriff, stepped into the room. chapter iv. m'kibben's tip. "howdy, matt!" cried mckibben. "just dropped in to see you on a little matter of business. mrs. spooner wanted to come up and announce me, but i told her that wasn't necessary. know where tom clipperton is?" this point blank question struck matt "all of a heap." if there was one thing he hated more than another it was a lie. only a coward will side-step the truth. however, matt couldn't very well tell mckibben that clip was in the closet, and he didn't see how he could refuse to answer mckibben's question without arousing his suspicions. fortunately, the official did not wait very long for matt to reply. "i've just come from the place where clipperton boards," said he, "and he wasn't there. i can have a little talk with you, though, and maybe it will do just as well." matt and mckibben were very good friends, and the sheriff dropped into the chair recently vacated by clip. "what's happened, mr. mckibben?" queried matt. "has some one turned up to claim that red roadster?" "no, and i don't believe any one ever will. the fellows who own that car know when to let well enough alone. what i want to see you about, matt, is an altogether different matter, although the roadster is indirectly concerned. you were out this afternoon with clipperton, mcready, and perkins, and you got away from a cattle stampede by the skin of your eye-winkers, at the same time saving josh fresnay, of the fiddleback outfit." "it wasn't much of a getaway," laughed matt. "when you open that red roadster up she can go about ten feet to a steer's one." "of course," returned mckibben, "with a cool head and a steady hand, like yours, there wasn't much danger. fresnay was telling me about it. he also told me how his horse was stopped by a half-breed, and how he had a notion that the half-breed was pima pete, one of dangerfield's old gang. fresnay has only seen pima pete once or twice, and one half-breed looks a lot like another, anyhow, so fresnay didn't think very much about it at the time he got his horse back. while he was riding into phoenix though, he got to turning the matter over in his mind, along with something else he saw, and he got a bit suspicious. as soon as he'd finished his business at the bank he came to see me. i heard what he had to say and went to see clipperton, but he wasn't at home. knowing you were a chum of clipperton's, i headed for here." matt was startled, although he tried not to show it. fresnay was a source of peril for clip--that point went home to matt in a twinkling. "naturally," resumed the sheriff, taking a whole lot for granted, "you wouldn't know pima pete from adam, but clip might know him. anyhow, on the supposition that fresnay's suspicions were well grounded, i have sent a couple of deputies out into the hills to look for the half-breed; but i'd like a little more information, if i could get it. there's another point, too, which looks a little bit queer, in case fresnay has got it right. he said he saw the half-breed hand clipperton something that looked like a scrap of paper. fresnay may have been wrong in this--i hope he is--for if the half-breed really proves to be pima pete, that note business will have an ugly look for your chum. see? what i want you to do, matt, is to find clip, if you can, and send him to me. i've only got the boy's best interests at heart, and i want to talk with him. a little heart-to-heart talk, just now, might save him some trouble." mckibben got up. "i reckon that's all," he finished, moving toward the door. "if you can find clipperton you'll ask him to come and see me?" "yes," answered matt. just then he was in a situation that was mighty unpleasant. how was he going to play square with the sheriff and at the same time be loyal to clipperton? certainly he could not tell what he knew about clipperton and pima pete. as soon as the sheriff had gone, and the front door of the house had closed behind him, clip emerged from the closet. his face was set and stern as he confronted matt. "fresnay has made much trouble!" muttered clip. "he recognized my uncle. and he saw him smuggle that note into my hand. more than that, two deputies are in the hills looking for pima pete." clip scowled his dissatisfaction over the prospect. "you can see, old chap," said matt, "what it means to tangle up with pima pete in this business of dangerfield's. cut pima pete out. it isn't safe for you to have anything more to do with him." "_you_ needn't, matt. you can't, after this. but i've got to. pima pete's my uncle. blood's thicker than water, even if it _is_ indian blood." the fiercely resentful look gleamed in clip's eyes. "pima pete came here on dangerfield's business. but for that, he'd have been across the border and safe by now. i'll see him to-night and warn him to clear out." "clip," said matt, in a low, earnest tone, "if you'll take my advice you won't go near pima pete, but you'll go to the sheriff and make a clean breast of the whole thing." clip made a gesture of savage dissent. "if it was _your_ uncle," said he, with a bitter note in his voice, "you'd see this thing differently. suppose pima pete's captured and brought in here. suppose it becomes known he's a relative of mine--he, one of dangerfield's gang!" clip's eyes became points of flame, and his breath came hard and fast. "why," and his voice was husky and thick with passion as he spoke, "they might try to take me out of the public school and send me to the indian school. i've--i've stood all i can on account of my blood. i'm not ashamed of it!" his head went up again and his shoulders went back proudly. "but i'm not going to be an object of contempt for the whites of this town. at the high school they've been trying to down me because i'm part indian. they couldn't have treated me worse if i'd been a nigger. you were my only friend." his voice softened. "you have made friends for me. now i'm not going to lose all i've gained by having pima pete brought in, and letting everybody know what he is to me. besides, he's my uncle. i'm not going to turn my back on him while he's in trouble." clip's words came whisperingly, but with an undernote of firmness and determination there was no shaking. matt was in a quandary. he could see clip's side of the question, and he knew how resolute he always was when he had made up his mind to a certain course. "look here," said matt, "you go and see the sheriff. tell him everything. he's a good friend of mine, and of yours, and he'll respect your confidence. while you're doing that, i'll get onto the _comet_, go out into the hills, and warn pima pete myself. it will be safer for me than for you." clip stared at matt for a moment, then walked up to him and gripped his hand. "that's like you," he returned. "but it won't do. if there's danger in meeting pima pete, it's _my_ danger. besides, it's my duty. another thing. i'll not tell mckibben, nor any one else, what pima pete is to me. i'll die first. and as long as you're my friend, you'll not breathe a whisper of it to any one." the last words were spoken slowly and deliberately. "no matter what happens, matt, that shot goes as it lays," went on clip. "i'm going to see pima pete and warn him. i'll start as soon as i leave here. but i'll put on some other clothes so no one will know me. and i won't take my motor-cycle. that would be a give-away. i'll walk." matt hardly knew what to do. "if it wasn't for that confounded note," he muttered, "this business would have a different look. i didn't think fresnay saw that." "he said he'd be a friend of ours," frowned clip gloomily. "now he's making me trouble." "fresnay meant well. he thought he was doing the right thing to carry his suspicions to the sheriff. in any other circumstances, clip, you'd have done the same thing, and so would i. i'll go with you out there. then, if anything should come of it, i'll have something to say. governor gaynor is a friend of mine, and so is mckibben. i'm sure they'd both of them listen to _me_." clip shook his head. "i'll do this alone. i'm not going to ring you in. if i ever meant anything in my life i mean that. you say you're a friend of mine. then prove it by staying right here in town. don't say anything about me to any one. that's all, matt." clip glided to the door, opened it softly, and made a cautious survey of the stairway and the hall. "the coast is clear," he whispered, turning back for a moment, "and i can get out without being seen. good-by, pard." "so-long, clip." clip vanished from the room. matt, looking from the front window, saw him emerge from the house and start for a back street on his way to the mexican quarter. his indian blood never showed in him more than it did then. there was savage wariness in every movement. heavy-hearted and full of foreboding, matt dropped into a chair. his judgment told him that clip ought not to go into the hills, but there was no way matt could prevent it. his hands were tied. for an hour matt sat in his chair; then, for an hour longer, he paced the floor. after that he tried to read, but his gloomy thoughts would give him no peace. it was about nine o'clock when he pulled covers, but for a long time he could only toss about sleeplessly and think of clip. he heard the clock in the court-house tower chime the hours up to midnight, and then dropped into heavy slumber. the gray dawn was looking in at his windows when he was aroused. somebody was pounding on his door. rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he jumped up, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. chub mcready staggered in. his face was gray in the dim light, and he was breathless from running and excitement. "what do you think, matt?" he puffed. "clip's been arrested. he's over in the jail, now." chapter v. a victim of circumstances. "arrested!" matt staggered back and dropped on the edge of the bed. "that's right! don't it knock you slabsided? clip! think of it! i've been on the blink ever since i heard it. welcome was up early this mornin' and he saw 'em passin' the house, taking clip to jail. hogan and leffingwell, two of mckibben's deputies, had him. and hogan's arm was in a sling--he'd been shot." "not by clip!" exclaimed matt, horrified. "no, but by pima pete, one of the dangerfield gang who was with clip. pete got away; and clip could have got away, too, only he didn't try. that ain't the worst of it, though!" chub mopped his face with a handkerchief and began fanning himself with his hat. "great horned toads, matt, but things have been happenin' so fast i'm fair dazed with 'em all." "what else has happened, chub?" demanded matt, getting up and beginning to scramble into his clothes. "go ahead. i'll listen while i'm getting dressed." "you remember what josh fresnay, that cowboy, told us," went on chub, "while we had him on the car racin' away from those stampeding steers? he said he was going to town after ten thousand in gold to meet the fiddleback pay-roll." "yes," put in matt, with a start, "i remember that." "well, fresnay was robbed, last night. he started for the ranch about nine in the evening, and when he struck the hills, close to the place where we met the stampeded herd, somebody roped him from the roadside and jerked him out of the saddle. he was pretty badly stunned, but he was able to see that there were two who turned the trick. they looked like half-breeds, to him, although it was too dark to see anything very plain. before fresnay could untangle the rope, the two robbers had cut his bag of gold from the saddle and made off with it. fresnay, as soon as he could corral his wits, started back to town. as luck would have it, he met hogan and leffingwell, and told them what had happened. they all three started for the place where the robbery had been pulled off, and ran smack into clip and this pima pete; what's more, clip was lugging a bag containing nine thousand dollars in gold, and pete had a buckskin pouch with the other thousand. now, what d'you think o' that!" matt was dumfounded. towel in hand, he turned gaspingly from the wash-stand and stared at chub. but matt knew what had happened. in spite of his advice, clip had gone with pima pete to dangerfield's cache and dug up the money. pete had probably needed the thousand to get away with. by an irony of fate, dangerfield had buried $10,000 in gold--just the amount which had been stolen from fresnay. "but it wasn't the same money!" declared matt. "yes, it was--anyhow, it looks like it. all double eagles, matt. it wasn't the same bag, though--but _that_ don't count. great guns! i'd never have thought that of clip. but blood tells, one way or another, and----" "don't you think it of him now, chub!" cried matt, scrubbing savagely at his face with a towel. "there's not a dishonest hair in clip's head. you know it and i know it. this thing can all be explained." "of course," said chub, "it's hard to think clip's a thief, but he's up against a hard lot of circumstances, and it's twenty-three for him, i'm afraid." "it's all circumstantial evidence," growled matt, "and that means a doubt on the face of it." "and then to be caught with the goods----" "it wasn't the 'goods.' chub, clip's a chum of yours and mine. now's when he needs us, more than at any other time. you take it from me, clip's innocent. we'll pull together and get him clear." matt's confidence aroused chub's. "but clip was _disguised_, matt," said chub, more than willing to be convinced; "how do you account for that?" matt knew how to account for it, all right, but he was not at liberty to tell chub or any one else. "that can be explained," said matt quietly. the shock of chub's news had passed, and matt's keen mind was now busy with the situation. every circumstance chub had mentioned was but another coil about the unfortunate clip. matt blamed himself for not insisting on going with clip to meet pima pete. had he gone, he knew he could have kept pete and clip from going to dangerfield's cache and getting the gold. but for that fateful gold, a little figuring would have let clip out of the whole affair. "you got all this from welcome?" asked matt. "that's how," replied chub. "welcome came on in with hogan and leffingwell, and they told him all of it." "didn't clip say anything?" "you can search me. he was riding behind leffingwell, handcuffed and tied to the horse. he looked all gloomed up, perk said." "why shouldn't he?" demanded matt. "why did they let pima pete get away?" he added angrily. "if they'd brought _him_ in, this whole thing could have been straightened out." "how? you seem to know something--put me wise, matt." "i can't tell you now, chub, but maybe i may after i talk with clip. did the deputies tell welcome how pima pete managed to escape?" "they said he pulled a gun, fired, and jumped into the rocks at the trailside. he dropped the pouch with the thousand, in his hurry. hogan was hurt, as i said, but leffingwell drew a gun and would have dropped pima pete if clip hadn't knocked the gun aside. and that's another point against clip. jumpin' tarantulas!" and chub shook his head ominously. "i don't see how we're ever goin' to get clip out of this, matt. even if he wasn't guilty, he acted that way right from the start." "but he didn't try to run himself! don't forget that, chub. what time were clip and pima pete met up with by the deputies?" "a little after ten last night." "and they didn't bring clip in till early this morning?" "no. hogan watched clip, and leffingwell chased after pete. leffingwell couldn't use his horse--you know the lay of the ground out there beside the trail--so leffingwell had to do his huntin' on foot. he used up several hours, i guess, but pete got away from him." "there's another point, chub," said matt. "how could hogan and leffingwell tell the man was pete, if it was dark?" "leffingwell knows pete pretty well. you see, leffingwell comes from prescott, an' that place used to be an old stamping-ground of the half-breed's. and then leffingwell got close enough to pete so he could see him. it was a clear night, and there was a good moon." matt knew, naturally, that leffingwell had made no mistake. "you say clip's in jail?" inquired matt, reaching for his cap. "that's where they were taking him." "well, we'll get a permit from mr. mckibben and go and have a talk with clip. i guess the sheriff will be in his office now, on account of this, so we'll slide for the court-house. come on." they descended the stairs quickly and let themselves out into the clear morning air. would clip still allow his pride to stand between himself and freedom? he had told matt that he would die before he would let any one in phoenix know that pima pete was a relative of his. could clip explain matters satisfactorily by keeping his relationship with pete in the background? the sheriff was in his office, and with him were hogan and fresnay. hogan's arm was hanging from his neck in a sling, and there was a strong smell of drugs in the room, proving that the arm had recently been dressed by a surgeon. fresnay also had a few bruises, caused by his fall from the back of his horse. on the sheriff's desk lay a dingy canvas bag and a greasy pouch of buckskin. there was a big pile of gold pieces stacked up by the canvas bag, and a smaller pile heaped up by the pouch. "hello, matt!" called the sheriff, motioning both boys to chairs. "i felt pretty sure you'd show up. tough luck, eh? but i was afraid of something like this when i called on you last night." "clip's innocent, mr. mckibben," asserted matt stoutly. "you've made a mistake, fresnay," he added to the cowboy. "wisht i had, pard," answered fresnay, "jest on yore account. didn't know, till mckibben told me, that you was sich a great friend o' clipperton's. but ye kain't dodge the facts, son." "if you'd got a good look at the two who robbed you," went on matt, "you'd have known at once that one of them wasn't clip." "i was kinder dazed, but them thieves looked like the half-breed and clipperton. anyways, we found 'em with the gold, an' that makes it a dead open-an'-shut." "is it the same gold?" "double eagles. the payin'-teller at the bank'll tell you that's how i drawed the pay-roll money. allers git it that way." "is it the same bag?" "waal, no, but it 'u'd be plumb easy ter change bags." "if your bag was a good one, why would a change be made to that other one?" and matt's eyes rested on the dingy canvas receptacle on the sheriff's desk. "give it up, pard. we got ter take things as we find 'em." "i know, matt," put in mckibben, "that you hate to think this of clip even more than i do, but we've got a clean case against the boy. in the first place, he was in the red roadster when fresnay told all of you he was coming to town after ten thousand in gold; then clipperton gets into a disguise and walks into the hills--_walks_, mind you, so no one will guess who he is, which wouldn't have been hard if he'd taken the motor-cycle; and then he's bagged with the money and refuses to say a word about that note pima pete gave him, or how he came to be in the hills with the half-breed. it looks mighty bad for clipperton, i can tell you that. i've sent for him, though, so as to have another talk with him. glad you came. maybe you can get him to say something. ah, here he is now." just at that moment the door opened and clip came into the room. he was handcuffed, and leffingwell had a hand through his arm. matt and chub got up and stepped toward their chum. "cheer up, old chum!" said matt, taking clip's hand. "we know you're innocent, and we're going to prove it." "you bet we are!" declared chub. clip looked his gratitude, at the same time there was a restraining gleam in the eyes he turned on matt. chapter vi. the pride of tom clipperton. at that significant look from clipperton, matt's hopes went down. apparently not even arrest, or the dubious prospect ahead of him, had shaken tom clipperton's resolve to hide his dealings with pima pete. defiantly he turned to face the sheriff. "you're in a bad hole, clipperton," said mckibben, "and i've brought you here to see again if you won't tell us something that will make this look a little less dark for you. i want to be your friend, but i can't do anything if you're not perfectly frank with me." "if you want to be my friend, look for the real robbers," answered clip. "i didn't take fresnay's money." "where did you get that gold, then?" "i dug it up." the sheriff looked incredulous, as well he might; hogan muttered sarcastically, and fresnay shook his head. "it's a fact!" declared clip angrily. "you can go and see the place. look at that bag!" he whirled and pointed to the dingy canvas sack on the desk. "there's sand on it yet." "it won't do, clip," said mckibben. "don't it strike you as mighty odd you should dig up just the amount of money that was taken from fresnay, and all of the same kind? but, assuming that you did dig it up, who put the gold in the ground? and what had pima pete to do with it?" "i can't tell you that," answered clipperton stiffly. matt went over to clip and whispered to him. "for heaven's sake, clip, don't you understand what this means to you? make a clean breast of everything!" "i'll go to prison for life first! you know how i've been treated here, and you know what would be said of me if they knew all about pima pete." "anyhow," pleaded matt, "tell the sheriff it was dangerfield's money. dangerfield himself will bear you out in that." "they wouldn't believe me, and they wouldn't believe dangerfield. i'll tell them that much, though. don't you forget! if you're a friend of mine you'll say nothing." "not to chub?" clip hesitated. "we're both of us going to help you out of this," went on matt earnestly, "one way or another. but we can work better if chub knows as much as i do." "tell him," said clip. "but make him promise not to tell any one else. i'm not ashamed of my blood, but if they knew pima pete was my uncle they'd be more ready to fasten this onto me." "that's a mistake, old fellow, and----" "i've made up my mind!" the black eyes flashed. "if you and chub find the real thieves, and get back the other ten thousand dollars, that would let me out. nothing else will." it was a terrible mistake clip was making, but his nature had been so warped because of the treatment he had suffered on account of his indian blood, that it was impossible for him to see the matter in the right light. matt drew back, his face showing his intense disappointment. "it was dangerfield's money," said clip to mckibben. the sheriff did not believe the statement, and neither did hogan nor fresnay nor leffingwell. "where did dangerfield get all that money?" asked mckibben; "and why did he hide it like that?" "ask him," said clip curtly. the looks on the faces of his inquisitors had brought his pride and defiance to the surface. "where is dangerfield now, mr. mckibben?" asked matt. "he has been taken to the government prison at leavenworth," answered the sheriff. "can't you write him, tell what has happened, and ask him for a statement?" "what's the use, matt? the whole thing sounds too fishy." "do it for me, mr. mckibben! i _know_ clip's telling the truth. why, dangerfield wanted me to help dig up that gold----" matt stopped suddenly. clip's eyes were on him and were telling him plainly he had said too much. "wanted _you_ to help dig it up?" queried the puzzled sheriff. "write and ask him about it," said matt. "i will," averred mckibben, "just because of what you say. my letter will go to the warden of the prison, however, and i'll have him question dangerfield. it's too improbable a yarn, though, and i haven't any hopes." he turned to clip. "what was in that note pima pete gave you?" he asked. "pete asked me to meet him last night and dig up the gold," replied clip. "have you the note?" "i burned it." "why did you do that?" clip was silent. "why did you disguise yourself when you went out to meet pima pete?" still clip would not answer. "why did you grab leffingwell's revolver and keep him from shooting the half-breed when he was running away?" the use of the word "half-breed" was unfortunate. it reminded clip how ready they were to think evil of him on account of his mixed blood. "that's my business," said he curtly. the sharp answer aroused the sheriff's resentment. "very well, if you're foolish enough to take that stand, clipperton. you'll have an examination this afternoon, but you might as well waive it, if you're going to keep that attitude." "he'll have a lawyer to look after his interests, mr. mckibben," spoke up matt. "who'll pay for the lawyer?" asked clip, turning on matt. "i will! dangerfield got you into this, and i'll spend every cent paid to me for his capture to get you clear." clip stretched out his hands quietly, the handcuffs rattling. matt clasped his chum's palm loyally, and clip turned away. mckibben motioned to leffingwell, and the prisoner was led out of the room. "you're certainly a mighty good friend of clipperton's," said the sheriff to matt, "but he don't deserve it." "you don't know him as well as i do," said matt. "he could explain a whole lot, if he would." "then why don't he do it?" "mistaken pride," flushed matt, "and it comes from the scurvy way people have treated him here in phoenix." "then that mistaken pride," said the sheriff gravely, "is going to land him in the penitentiary." "not if chub and i can save him!" "what have you and chub got to work on?" "the theory you won't accept--that the real thieves, with another lot of money, are hiding away somewhere, tickled to death to think that you're on the wrong track." "matt," and the sheriff came close to the boy and dropped a hand on his shoulder, "you're the clear quill, and i think a heap of you, but you're going it wrong. that injun was never born who wouldn't steal, and there's enough injun blood in tom clipperton to make him a thief. come! there's no use beating about the bush; we might just as well call a spade a spade and be done with it. let the law take its course with clipperton--you can't stop it." "i _will_ stop it," declared matt; "mcready and i will prove that clipperton is innocent." "i wish i had a few friends like you," muttered the sheriff. "same here," spoke up fresnay, stepping forward. "ye don't hold any grouch ag'inst me, do you, matt?" "no; you only did what you thought was right. and that's all tom clipperton did. all of you will be next to that, one of these days." "well," said mckibben, "i know you've got nerve, and i know that when you make up your mind to a thing you hang to it tighter than a dog to a bone. but you listen to me matt: if you spend all your money for clipperton you'll be sorry." "anyhow, you're going to write to leavenworth?" asked matt. "i'll do that at once." that was about all matt had gained by his interview in the sheriff's office. he and chub went out, and chub heaved a long breath as they went down the court-house steps. "there's a hen on somewhere, matt," said chub. "i'm pretty thick-headed, but i can see that. what was you whisperin' to clip about?" "i was trying to get him to make a clean breast of everything," replied matt gloomily. "and he wouldn't?" "no; but he said i could let you in on all i know, providing you'd agree to keep it to yourself." "sure i'll keep it to myself. that's all to the good. fire away." "come over to breakfast with me at mrs. spooner's. i'll tell you as we go along." matt began by telling chub how dangerfield had asked him to help in some work or other which pima pete knew about; then he went on to tell about the note given to clip by pete, of the former's call the afternoon before, and about clip's determination to see pete and warn him away. then matt made the whole thing clear by explaining that pima pete was clip's uncle. chub was so astounded he could only whistle. they were at mrs. spooner's before he could make any comment one way or another, and the landlady was waiting with a badly soiled envelope addressed to matt. "that there letter," explained mrs. spooner, "was left here by the worst-lookin' greaser i calculate i ever seen. he jest said that was fer you, matt, an' left straight off. i didn't ask his name, or anythin' else, bein' glad enough to see his back, i can tell ye." matt tore open the envelope and drew out a folded sheet of paper. grimy fingers had left marks all over the paper, but the writing--a mere lead-pencil scrawl--was legible enough. "com preskot tursda be att brigs hous wait." that was all. no signature, and nothing but the eight misspelled words. was it a clue that pointed to something worth while in clip's case? chapter vii. laying plans. while he and chub were eating their breakfast matt questioned mrs. spooner more at length regarding the mexican who had brought the letter. but he was not able to find out anything more than he already knew. mrs. spooner had about as much use for a mexican as she had for an indian, and that was no use at all. consequently she had paid but little attention to the messenger who had delivered the letter, and had been very glad to get rid of him so quickly. mrs. spooner was a good woman, but very inquisitive. from the questions matt put about the letter she knew it must be of considerable importance, and she tried hard to find out something about its contents. in order to get away, matt ate less breakfast than usual, and hustled chub up to his room. there he passed the letter over for chub's inspection. "i guess," remarked chub, after studying the scrawl, "that you can translate that to mean 'come to prescott on thursday. be at the briggs house, and wait for something to happen.' is that what you make of it, matt?" "yes." "a fair shake, do you think, or is somebody trying to string you?" "i can't imagine who'd want to string me, chub. it may have something to do with clip. and to-morrow's thursday." "i can get next to that, all right. it won't do any harm to follow up the tip and see what it amounts to. suppose i get that one-cylinder machine of clip's and we make the trip to prescott on our motor-cycles?" "bully! but we can't get away much before this evening, chub. when the bank opens i want to get some money and hire a lawyer for clip; then i'd like to ride out to the hills and look over the scene of the robbery. after that we could hike for prescott. do you know the road?" "i could go over it with my eyes shut." "good all the way?" "in dry weather. when it's wet there are whole miles of trail where the motor-cycle would mire clear to the forks. we could go on the train, though, if you wanted to. i know jack moody, one of the engineers. he runs up to ash fork in the afternoon and comes back the next afternoon; but whether his run's to-day or not i don't know." "it's better to use the motor-cycles. i haven't given the _comet_ a real spin since i took that hundred-mile run for the governor." "then we'll take the wheels and start this afternoon. but look here, matt. i think a lot of clip, but he's actin' mighty like he belongs in the foolish-house, seems to me. it wouldn't hurt him much if he told everything he knew--and it mightn't get him out of the scrape, either, but it would help, that's a cinch." "clip's a mighty queer fellow, and i don't know that i can blame him for feeling like he does. you know how pretty near everybody has thrown it into him here in phoenix, because he's part indian. he's trying to do the square thing, and it hurts. now, just as he's getting the better of that prejudice, if it came out that pima pete, one of the dangerfield gang, was a relative of his, that would be like turning the knife in an old wound. clip's got a lot of pride, and he feels as though he wanted to do everything he could for pima pete. it's possible he'll go to prison before he opens his head about pete; unless----" matt hesitated. "unless what?" asked chub. "why, unless you and i can find the real robbers and the other bag of gold." "it's a big order," said chub. "i've been filling big orders lately," smiled matt, "and i'd tackle anything if there was a chance of helping clip." "here, too. but what have we got to go on? nothing but a few words from a mutt who must have spent most of his time playin' hooky when he went to school. for all we know, it's just as much of a wrong steer as a right one." "well, it's a warm guess that mckibben won't strain himself looking for any more robbers." "he thinks there were only two robbers, and that he's got them. not knowin' what we do, matt, an' considerin' the way clip acts, you can't blame mckibben a terrible sight." "that's right, we can't. but it bats the whole thing up to us. maybe mckibben will shake himself together and send some deputies after the other robbers when he hears from dangerfield." "what do you think dangerfield will say?" "he'll tell the truth, and that will prove that clip wasn't lying when he said he dug up that money." "sounds like a pipe-dream, though, don't it, that dangerfield buried just ten thousand in double eagles--same as what fresnay got from the bank?" "that's a mighty bad coincidence for clip. everything's gone wrong for him. he disguised himself so he wouldn't be recognized when he went out to meet his uncle, and now they think he put on those old clothes so he wouldn't be known when he committed the robbery! and when he saved his uncle's life by knocking leffingwell's revolver aside, mckibben and the deputies drew their own conclusions about that." "if pima pete thought as much of helping clip as clip thought of helping him, he'll walk right into the sheriff's office as soon as he hears what's happened." "that's the last thing clip would want him to do. the whole business might come out--and i believe clip would rather go to prison than have it known a relative of his belonged to the dangerfield gang. clip knows that everybody thinks indian blood is no good, and he's been trying to change their notions. i've got something in my head. it's this: you know there were four or five of dangerfield's gang got away the time sheriff burke, of prescott, rounded the smugglers up at tinaja wells. it's the general idea they got over into mexico, but maybe some of them have been hanging out in the hills; and maybe two of them got wind of this trip of fresnay's after the pay-roll money and laid for him." "a cinch!" cried chub, electrified. "i'll bet money that's the way of it. but those two handy-boys may be on the way to mexico now. if that's so, i can see where we get off!" "if we can't catch the robbers," said matt, "maybe we can catch pima pete." "what good would that do? clip don't want him caught." "i don't mean to bring him to phoenix," pursued matt, "nor to turn him over to the officers. if we could find him, and make him swear to what he and clip did last night, that ought to help clip's case a whole lot." "that means, then, we've got two strings to pull--either find the two robbers or find pima pete." "this clue may help," and matt pointed to the note which lay on the table. "i'm not banking a whole lot on that. it's got all the earmarks of a false alarm. goin' to show it to mckibben?" "i'm not going to show it to anybody. it may not amount to anything, but we'll run it down and make sure." just then the pounding of a motor from the road in front reached the boys. "great guns!" exclaimed chub, looking from a window. "there's mckibben, now, and he's stopping in front." matt looked out. mckibben, in the red roadster, had pulled to a stop in front of mrs. spooner's gate. leffingwell was in the rumble-seat. the sheriff looked up and saw matt, then waved his hand for him to come down. "there's something up, chub," said matt. "let's go down and see what it is." the two boys hurried down-stairs and out of the house. "what is it, mr. mckibben?" asked matt. the sheriff reached into his pocket and drew out a yellow slip. "it's a telegram, matt," said he. "just came--and not more than half an hour after i had posted that letter to the warden of the government prison at leavenworth." matt unfolded the slip, hoping against hope that it contained good news of some sort. but he was far afield, for the news was anything but good. "dangerfield committed suicide in his cell here last night. advise name of next of kin, if you know it." matt's hands closed convulsively on the yellow sheet. another hope gone--and there were not many for clip to lose! chapter viii. the rifled cache. "tough luck!" exclaimed chub, looking over matt's shoulder and reading the message. "it never rains but it comes down in buckets." "it _is_ tough, and no mistake," said mckibben. "i'm anxious to give clipperton every chance, but he's his own worst enemy, and everything goes against him. why, here i'm in starting on a wild-goose chase into the hills, looking for that rifled cache where clip says he dug up the gold! jump in, matt, i want to take you with us. you, too, chub; get into this other seat with me, for i'm not going to do the driving myself when there's such a crack chauffeur as motor matt along." mckibben changed his seat, and chub climbed in. matt walked around to the other side. "what time is clip's examination, mr. mckibben?" he asked. "four o'clock this afternoon." "i want to get back before the bank closes and in time to hire a lawyer." "i expect to get back here by eleven o'clock." with that, matt cranked up the machine, got in, and they started. there was no tarrying on the road, for matt was anxious to get back, and he had leffingwell hanging to the rumble-seat with both hands half the time. "you're going to look for the place where clip and pima pete dug up the money, mr. mckibben?" asked matt. "for the place where clip _says_ they dug it up," qualified the sheriff. "he told you where to go?" "yes." "and if you see the place you'll believe his story?" "i'm not saying that, matt. clip and pete may have dug the hole for some other purpose, and clip may have been smart enough to call the hole a cache, and to say fresnay's money came out of it. by the way," the sheriff went on, deftly changing the subject, "you were with dangerfield quite a while, that time you brought him in from castle creek caã±on. was that the time he spoke about having buried that money and asked you to help dig it up?" "i don't want to talk about that now, mr. mckibben," answered matt. "there's a whole lot to it that concerns clip, and i promised him i wouldn't explain." "you boys are keeping something back--i know that. if you want to get clip out of a bad hole, matt, you don't want to keep anything back, no matter what clip says. you've got to help him in spite of himself. this is no time for false ideas of loyalty to a friend." "what i know wouldn't clear clip," said matt, "although it would explain a few things that are counting against him. i'm in honor bound to keep it quiet." "well," went on the sheriff, "have you any idea who dangerfield's next of kin is?" "i understand that he has a father living in emmetsburg, iowa." "good enough! i'll wire that to leavenworth." under mckibben's direction matt brought the roadster to a stop close to the place where fresnay's saddle had turned while he was trying to pick up welcome during the stampede. leaving the car in charge of chub, matt, mckibben, and leffingwell got out, found the easiest place for climbing the steep bank, and made their way westward into the uplifts. as they proceeded, the sheriff eyed their surroundings keenly, apparently laying his course by landmarks about which clip had told him. after fifteen minutes of scrambling among the rocks, mckibben brought his two companions to a halt at the foot of a rocky hill. here there was a hole about three feet deep with a heap of sand lying beside it. close to the edge of the hole a dozen stones had been laid in the form of a cross. "there you are leffingwell," remarked mckibben. "what do you think about it?" "some 'un was at work here," replied the deputy, "an' not very long ago, at that." "it was clip and pete," put in matt, and pointed to the print of a moccasin and of a boot-sole in the soft sand at the side of the hole. "pima pete wore moccasins." "they dug up somethin' here, all right," commented leffingwell, "but i'll bet somethin' handsome it wasn't money." mckibben wandered around the vicinity of the hole for a few minutes and then turned and started back toward the road. "we've only clipperton's word for it," said he, as he descended the bank to the car. "and mine," added matt. "we'll never have dangerfield's--now." "would pima pete's sworn statement help any?" asked matt. "it might, matt; but just how much weight pima pete's affidavit would have with a jury is a question." on the homeward trip another halt was made at the place where fresnay had been robbed. the road was hard at this point, and the unyielding earth had left no sign of what had taken place. this was another disappointment for matt. if the ground had been soft, _and no moccasin-tracks found_, a good point would have been scored for clip. but fate seemed to be working against clip at almost every turn. the party got back to phoenix at half-past ten, and matt and chub left the car at the bank. here matt drew $200 of the money that had been paid to him as a reward for bringing in dangerfield, and the boys proceeded at once to the office of a legal gentleman whom clip declared to be one of the best criminal-lawyers in phoenix. the man's name was short, and, oddly enough, he stood over six feet in his stockings. he had a gimlet-eye and a hawklike face, and was professionally brusk and brutally frank. but he had already heard of clip's arrest, and, as everybody in town knew motor matt--who had been a good deal in the public eye during the preceding weeks--the lawyer listened to the young motorist with attention. "how much money have you got to spend on this, king?" queried the lawyer. "i've got $900," said matt, "but i'll need some of that for other expenses." "what expenses?" "i'll explain, mr. short, when you tell me whether or not you'll take the case." "the long and short of it is this: if we can't break down clipperton's stubbornness, and induce him to tell what he knows, he's a gone gosling. if i get him clear i want $500; if i lose--which seems a foregone conclusion--$250 will settle the bill." "here's a hundred on account," said matt, and short gave him a receipt and pocketed the money. "now, about the clues you have," said short. matt showed the note received at the boarding-house that morning. the lawyer examined it, puckered up his brows, and drummed on the desk with his fingers. "not worth the paper it's written on," said he. "that's my opinion, but it seems to be the only clue we have, so you'd better follow it. i'll go over and talk with clipperton. probably we'll waive examination. he'll be held to the circuit court, now in session, and the case will no doubt be taken right up. are you prepared to furnish bail and get clipperton out for a few days? i wouldn't advise it. he might run." "no danger of his running, mr. short," said matt sharply. "clip's as innocent of that robbery as i am." "that's my attitude--publicly; but to you, king, i'm frank. however, we'll do what we can. i don't want to lose out, for it means something to me if i win. you boys might go over with me to see clipperton, and try to get him in a receptive frame of mind. he ought not to keep anything from his lawyer." the lawyer put on his hat and started for the door. "how much bail will be required to get clip out?" matt asked. "i think i can get it down to $5,000." "i've got friends in town----" "you bet you have!" declared short; "governor gaynor, for instance." "but the way everybody feels toward clip, i can't ask any of my friends to go on his bail." "just as well. i think the case will come to trial in two or three days. the court is now sitting, and there's not much on the docket." mr. mckibben had got back to his office, and the necessary permit for the boys and the lawyer to see clipperton was quickly obtained. clip was a forlorn-looking figure, sitting in his cell with arms folded and head bent. matt's sympathy went out to him, and, after introducing the lawyer, he slapped him encouragingly on the shoulder and begged him to go into details as much as he could. clip was grateful to matt, and showed it, but not even to short would he give the true inwardness of the affair. matt did not tell clip about the note received through mrs. spooner, thinking he might imagine it had something to do with pima pete, and shut down on having the clue followed. when they left the jail short was tempted to withdraw from the case. "what can we do for a fellow who won't help himself?" he demanded, out of patience. matt prevailed on him, however, to do what he could, and the boys left him at the foot of the stairs leading up to his office. "we're up against it, pard," remarked chub gloomily, as he and matt went off down the street. "i'm no knocker, but hanging out like this is the worst kind of foolishness on clip's part. he's crazy, to act like he's doing. mckibben knew his business when he told you to do what you thought best, and never mind clip." "get that out of your head, chub," said matt. "we've got to win this game for clip on the lines he has laid down. when will you be ready to start for prescott?" "just as soon as i can tell sis, eat my dinner, and pick up clip's motor-cycle." "all right. when you're ready come around to mrs. spooner's." the two chums separated. matt, profoundly dissatisfied with the course of events, took his way toward his boarding-house. as if he had not already had enough to discourage him, mrs. spooner, tremendously excited, met him in the hall with another letter. "the same greaser brought this 'un that brought the other, matt," she explained. "i didn't like his looks any too well, but i tried to get him to tell his name, knowin' how curious ye was about it. he was that unmannerly, though, he jest bolted right off'n the front steps." "it doesn't make any difference, mrs. spooner," said matt, "for i don't think it amounts to much." matt went on up-stairs, and in the privacy of his room examined the letter. it was better written and better spelled than the other note had been, and was plainly from another hand; but there was no name signed and no other clue to the sender. the contents, however, were surprising. "if you start for prescott you'll never get there alive. take a fool's advice and keep away." matt was amazed. evidently that first communication was of some importance, or the present writer would never have taken the trouble to send such a threat. so far from being intimidated, a steely glint came into matt's eyes, and his square jaw set resolutely. "chub and i are going to prescott," he muttered, "and i guess we can take care of all the trouble that comes our way." chapter ix. the break in the road. several days before, when matt had been planning to start for denver on his motor-cycle, he had bought an auxiliary gasoline-tank. the tank that came with the machine was attached behind the saddle, and held five quarts, sufficient for a run of 75 to 100 miles. the auxiliary tank was attached to the top tube, and its tubes and connections were so arranged that it could be used independently of the tank behind. with both tanks filled, the _comet's_ radius of action was increased at least 75 miles--enough to carry the machine half-again as far as prescott. matt had never experienced any trouble with the _comet_. as a rule, common sense and ordinary thoughtfulness are enough to keep any good motor-cycle on the road without repair bills. the _comet_ was always as spick and span as when it came from the factory, for matt groomed the machine as he would have groomed a race-horse, and cleanliness is one of the first points to look after if a machine is to travel right. on his return from a trip he never failed to go over the motor-cycle with wrench and pliers, to inject a few squirts of kerosene into the warm cylinders, and to "turn over" the engine a few times. he was busy making a final survey of the _comet_ when chub pounded up on clip's machine. a canteen, lashed to the head of the one-cylinder, showed that chub had been thoughtful enough to secure a reserve supply of gasoline. "all ready?" sang out matt. "ready's whole family," answered chub. two minutes later the boys were skimming north along the cave creek road. beyond the outlying canal they struck the hills, and here matt instructed chub a little in nursing his machine--not to open the muffler when there was no real necessity, to let the burned oil out of the motor base at least once every fifty miles, and to cut off the power when descending hills in order to cool and help the engine. they were well into the hills before matt told chub about the second letter, and showed it to him. "thunder!" exclaimed chub. "it must be a swift bunch we're up against. but i guess they're four-flushin'. anyhow," he grinned, "i'm not scared so you can notice it." "it makes me think," said matt, "that there's something in that first note, in spite of short's opinion." "sure," answered chub. "that first note is lookin' better and better to me. different fists worked on those two letters. the last one must have been jotted down by a fellow who'd been through the eighth grade, anyhow. how do you size 'em up?" "it's all guesswork, chub, but my guess is that some party intends giving us a tip, and that another one found it out, and is trying to backcap the first man. the tip must be important, or the second man wouldn't try to keep us away from prescott. to follow the thing farther, the second man may be one of the two who held up fresnay." "keno! and we've landed with both feet right in something that seems worth while. the second man is trying a bluff--but if he had known motor matt better he might have saved himself the trouble." "we'll keep our eyes skinned, all the same," said matt. "if it's really a bluff, we won't lose anything by being careful; while if it isn't, we'll have a lot to gain." "correct. an ounce of prevention is worth a ton of cure." the road, although it twisted back and forth between rocky hills, was smooth and even. both motor-cycles worked to perfection, and the boys went spinning along at a leisurely clip, keeping a sharp watch all around them. at the town-pump, in wickenburg, they stopped for a drink, then struck out for skull valley, where the railroad had an eating-house at which they had planned to get supper. they were still wary, although the prospect of trouble seemed to be growing more and more remote. chub, overconfident as usual, was just exulting over the way they had "called the bluff" of the unknown writer of the second note, when trouble materialized like a bolt from the blue. it was at a place where the road-bed was like asphalt, although crooked as a snake, and edged on both sides with rocky hills. in passing a gap between two of the hills matt heard sounds that aroused his apprehension. he might have been mistaken, but he thought he heard a scrambling of hoofs. "hit her up, chub," said he, in a low voice. "did you hear a noise on the left of the road? i did, and i don't like it." just as the two machines forged ahead at increased speed, a shout came from behind the boys: "stop! stop, or we'll shoot!" matt and chub stole a quick look behind. two horsemen were in the road, and one of them was armed with a rifle. "faster!" cried matt. "get around the next turn!" there was no need of a spur for chub. his idea that the writer of that second note was "four-flushing" had proved to be a dream, and he was coaxing his motor-cycle to the limit. _bang!_ the sharp report echoed and reechoed through the hills, and a spurt of dust shot up between the two racing wheels. "they're shooting at our tires!" called matt. "if they'll give us about a minute more," answered chub, doubled over his handle-bars, "they can blaze away all they please. they've got to haul up if they do any straight shooting, and while they're standing still we're getting into the distance. if---wow!" chub broke off with a startled yell. one of the bullets had passed altogether too close to him for any sort of comfort. the next moment the shoulder of a hill intervened between the boys and the marksman. they were safe for the moment, but, above the noise of their machines, they could hear a flurry of pounding hoofs. "they mean business, all right," said chub grimly, "but if they've a notion they can overhaul us on a couple of cayuses, they've got another guess coming." "look!" shouted matt suddenly; "there, ahead!" chub stared, and instinctively a shout of despair escaped his lips. ahead of the boys was a long, straight slope. at the foot of the slope there was a break in the road, a gap crossing it at right angles and seven or eight feet wide. "there were planks across that gap!" cried chub. "those scoundrels have taken them away. they've got us, matt!" for a moment motor matt did not answer. he was gazing sharply at the break. the chasm seemed deep, even if it was not very wide, and was evidently the course of a small stream. just before the edge of the gap was reached, heavy freighting over the road had hollowed out the road-bed. a daring idea took form in matt's mind. "we'll get across!" he cried. "how?" gasped chub. "that hollowed-out place--our machines will be thrown upward at the other side of it--_they'll leap across_!" chub's heart almost stood still. he was brave enough, but he did not understand the possibilities of the situation so well as matt, and the attempt to hurl their motor-cycles across the gap looked like the worst kind of recklessness. "give her every ounce of power, chub!" shouted matt. "head straight for the gap and keep the middle of the road. watch me; i'll take it first." the _comet_ was a much faster machine than the one chub was riding. up to that moment matt had been holding back in order to stay alongside his chum; but now, in order to demonstrate the feasibility of the fearful leap he had suggested, he opened the throttle and forged into the lead. chub, every faculty centered in his handle-bars, saw matt duck downward into the hollow, shoot upward, spin through the air as though launched from a catapult, then alight on the opposite side of the break a good four feet from the edge. what was more, the _comet_ did not seem to mind the leap any more than a spirited horse would have done, and started on up the road in excellent style. matt, however, halted and turned back. there were some doubts in his mind about chub. clip's motor-cycle wasn't a very late machine and might not be able to duplicate the _comet's_ performance. far up the slope the horsemen could be seen racing after the boys at top speed. there was nothing else for it, matt knew, but for chub to take his chance. down into the hollow went chub, then up and out, the one-cylinder's wheels spinning in mid-air. down he came, safe by a scant margin, and a breath of relief rushed through matt's lips. baffled shouts came from the horsemen. matt's hopes were dashed somewhat by sounds which told him chub's machine was beginning to misfire. "use your pedals!" shouted matt. "open the throttle, chub!" matt knew that the jolt the machine had had was probably the cause of the misfiring. the jar had perhaps caused the carburetter-float to stick, thus interrupting the regular flow of gasoline. opening the throttle did not seem to help. matt, watching the horsemen, saw them getting ready to take the gap at a leap. to delay much longer would surely mean capture. "hold down the priming-pin for a second!" yelled matt. he was making ready to go back to chub's assistance, when the motor took hold in proper shape, and chub, white and worried but mightily relieved, came gliding along. "i'm a regular mutt in a pinch like that," said he. "lost my head completely, and wouldn't have known the first thing to do if you hadn't yelled." "let 'er out again," returned matt. "we'll leave those two scoundrels behind, now, for good and all. the main thing is to get out of rifle-range while they're leaping the gap." side by side the chums plunged away. looking behind them, just before they took a turn, they saw the two horsemen swinging into the air and taking the leap safely. "we'll lead 'em now," gloried chub, "clear into skull valley, if they want to follow!" chapter x. prescott. not again did the boys see their pursuers, and for five minutes they kept up their swift pace. when finally sure that they were safe, they slowed down their machines. "didn't you ever get rattled, matt?" asked chub. "lots of times, old fellow," laughed matt. "well, if you'd got rattled back there at the break in the road little reddy mcready would have been raked in too easy for any use. those two roughs were dead set on getting us. must be something mighty important ahead of us in prescott or they wouldn't have tried so hard to hold us back." "i'm getting more confidence in that first note all the time," declared matt. "that's the way i stack up. it was a regular raw blazer of a play, though, the way those fellows came at us. but they'd laid their plans pretty well. where they missed was in not riding out into the trail ahead of us instead of behind." "that wasn't a miss," said matt, "that was a part of their plan. they had taken up the planks across that break in the road, and thought they'd chase us to the chasm and stop us there." "i'll bet the air is some blue around where those two fellows are now," laughed chub. "but put me wise to this: how did they know we were intending to go to prescott on our motor-cycles?" "that's too many for me, chub. there's been quite a lot going on in phoenix that i can't understand. the same mexican delivered both notes to mrs. spooner, and it looks as though the two men who robbed fresnay had been staying in the town, and at the same place where the fellow who wrote the first note was hanging out." "if we'd had time to look up that mexican----" "couldn't have found him in a thousand years from mrs. spooner's description. if i'd been at home when he brought that second note, he wouldn't have got away until he had told me a few things." "my thinkin'-apparatus is all kinked up over the whole business," puzzled chub, "but it looks like those two handy-boys are playing the game all by themselves. one of them wrote that warning and sent it to us, then picked up his partner and slid for the hills in order to stop us if the note didn't scare us out. they're the robbers, matt; they're the ones that lifted fresnay's money, all right." "then what do they want to keep us away from prescott for?" queried matt. "they needn't worry about themselves. with two good horses, and their freedom, and ten thousand in gold, they could start for mexico. whatever we can do in prescott needn't bother them." "maybe they're not able to clear out just yet." all the speculations of the chums regarding the two notes, and the men who had recently tried to stop them, were mere guesswork. giving up their attempt to probe the mystery, they set themselves to the task of reaching prescott as soon as possible. at skull valley, a place consisting of only half a dozen houses and the railroad-station, they halted just long enough to eat a hurried meal. there was the chance, if they tarried too long, that their enemies might attempt to get ahead of them on the road they were still to cover. when they had finished eating, the boys went over their machines, tightened a few bolts, lighted their lamps--it was beginning to get dark--then mounted and hurried on. from skull valley north they found the worst part of the road. it was on low ground, and boggy. during the present dry weather the road was passably good, but after a rain it would have been difficult for wagons to travel it, to say nothing of motor-cycles. for the most of the way the trail tried to follow the railroad-track, dipping under high trestles and angling back and forth across the rails. it was poor up to within half a dozen miles of prescott, and then, abruptly, it became like an asphalt boulevard, level with the track and smooth and clean right up to the ends of the ties. it was nearly nine o'clock in the evening when the boys reached this good stretch of road, and their lamps, streaming out ahead, showed it to them clearly. "mighty good going for a motor-cycle race," said chub. "and a fine place for racing a limited train," added matt, his mind running on the possibilities of steam versus gasoline. "say," said chub, "i'd like to see the _comet_ splurging along by jack moody's big baldwin, with moody late and making up time! whoo-ee! that would be a race! when moody's behind his schedule you'd think a wildman was at the throttle." although the boys did not dream of it at the time, yet this talk of theirs was prophetic. presently the motor-cycles glided over a low hill, covered a couple of miles of level road, crossed the track, and entered the town of prescott. chub, who had been in prescott several times, knew the location of the briggs house, and led the way directly there. they registered, secured a room on the ground floor, and, in order to make sure there would be no tampering with their machines, trundled them into the room where they would be constantly under their eyes or else behind a locked door. the motor-cycles were looked over and taken care of, and then the boys, tired out with their trip, tumbled into bed and fell asleep. they were up in time for breakfast, and were eagerly expecting something to happen. it was thursday, the day specified in the note which had been so mysteriously delivered at mrs. spooner's. following breakfast, they sat around the hotel office, impatient and with every faculty on the alert. noon came, and they had dinner, then the afternoon waned, and they had supper. no one came near them to broach anything connected with the particular business that had brought them to prescott. by eleven o'clock matt gave up hope of hearing anything that day, and he and chub went to bed. chub was very much discouraged. "i'm beginnin' to think that wasn't much of a tip, after all," he grumbled, as he rolled into bed. "something may have happened to keep the man who wrote that first note from showing his hand," hazarded matt. "yes," returned chub, "and something may have happened to him that will keep him from showing his hand at all." "you mean----" "why, that those two roughs who chased us may have taken care of that fellow who wrote the first note. after we got away from them, those scoundrels may have decided to put the other man out of the way. that would keep the fellow from communicating with us, and it's a cinch that's what those handy-boys were afraid of. matt, i'd be willin' to bet dad's gold-mine against a peck of marbles that we're side-tracked, and won't be able to do a thing for clip." "we'll stay here, anyhow," said matt doggedly, "and see it through. i've got a hunch that something's going to turn up." "but by stayin' here we may be losing time--and we haven't any time to throw away." "what could we do if we weren't here?" asked matt. "you've got me now. this business is getting on my nerves so that it's hard for me to hold down a chair and wait. feel like i wanted to be up and moving." "you can go back to phoenix, if you want to," suggested matt, "and watch things there. i can hold down this end, all right." "not on your life!" declared chub. "i'm goin' to stick to you tighter than a woodtick. if anything _does_ happen here, maybe you'll need some one about my heft and disposition to help." "then," said matt decidedly, "we're going to stay right here until something turns up. it's the only chance we've got to do anything for clip." "it's a slim enough chance, at that, but i'll go you," and chub turned over and went to sleep. matt's resolution to remain in prescott was somewhat shaken next morning. as he and chub left their room and walked out into the office the clerk handed matt a telegram. "just came," said the clerk. matt knew the message had something to do with clip, and his hands shook a little as he tore it open. it was a night-message, and had been sent from phoenix the preceding afternoon. it was from short, and ran as follows: "clipperton's case on friday morning. no court saturday. will probably go to jury monday afternoon. need you as witnesses." matt's face went white as he read the message and silently handed it to chub. "they're making short work of poor old clip," muttered chub angrily. "we've _got_ to cut loose from here now, haven't we?" "i want to think about it," answered matt, heading for the dining-room. chapter xi. matt makes a new move. neither of the boys ate much breakfast. that telegram, showing how clipperton was being railroaded through the court, had taken their appetite. matt reflected bitterly that clip was a quarter-blood--little better than a half-breed--and that the foregone conclusion that he was guilty must have prompted sparling, the prosecuting attorney, to hustle the case through. there was evidence enough to convict him without hunting up any more. matt's first step, after breakfast, was to send a telegram to short. "adjourn the case if you can. must have more time. if anything is done, got to do it here. can't you send some one to take our affidavits?" following this, matt made a new move--one which he was sorry he had not made before. leaving chub at the briggs house, he hunted up his friend sheriff burke. because of what matt had done for law and order, burke had a hearty admiration for him, and welcomed him cordially. "i'm here on business, mr. burke," said matt, "and haven't got much time to talk. you've heard about the robbery of josh fresnay, and about my chum, tom clipperton, being held for it?" a sympathetic look crossed burke's face. "sure i've heard about it," said he. "the trial's on to-day. i'm wondering, matt, why you're not in phoenix instead of here." "i'm here trying to help clipperton. i can't explain how, but that's the way of it. short, clip's lawyer, telegraphed me the case will probably go to the jury monday. there's not much time to lose, and i'd like to have you send out some deputies to look for the real robbers, mr. burke." burke opened his eyes wide. "why," said he, "it looks like a clear case against clipperton, and----" "it isn't a clear case!" declared matt warmly. "day before yesterday the two men who robbed fresnay were in the hills between wickenburg and skull valley. that puts them in your county, mr. burke, and it's up to you to catch them, if you can." "how do you know all that?" demanded burke, a little excited. "because they chased me and my chum, mcready; but we were on our motor-cycles, and got away from them." "what were they chasin' you for?" matt did not care to tell burke about the tip which had brought him and chub to prescott. he got around the explanation in another way. "those two robbers, mr. burke," said he earnestly, "are two of dangerfield's old gang." burke shot out of his chair at that. "are you positive of that, matt?" he demanded. "i am sure of it as i am that i am sitting here this minute." "but those two scoundrels may be a hundred miles away from here by now!" "i don't think so. i've got a firm conviction that they're hanging around in the vicinity of prescott." "they must have recognized you as bein' the governor's courier, that time we made the sourround at tinaja wells," said burke, "and that's why they chased you." matt made no response to this. "will you try and locate them, mr. burke?" he asked. "you bet i will--if for nothing more than to do something for you. you stack up pretty high with me, my boy, and if this is going to help any, i'll get right at it." "hustle!" said matt. "if we don't dig up something to help clipperton he's going to be convicted. and we've only got until monday. they're not losing any time putting him through." "not much time to waste on a breed," returned burke. "i know how it is. how long will you be in prescott?" "can't tell. not long, i hope." "where are you stopping?" "briggs house." "if anything turns up i'll let you know. if you've gone back to phoenix, i'll wire you. keep a stiff upper lip," he added kindly, noting the gloom in matt's face. "you seem to always win out when you tackle anything." "there's got to be a first time for a fellow to fall down, mr. burke." "not for you, matt," said the sheriff cheerily. in somewhat better spirits, matt returned to the hotel. chub was in the office and was not long in telling matt that nothing had happened. "you're the one, anyway, a messenger will be lookin' for," fretted chub. "if anything's going to turn up, you'd better stay right here and wait for it. where you been, matt?" matt told him. "that's a good idea," approved chub, "but the deputies ought to have been started out right after we got here." "that's one place where my foresight slipped a cog, chub," said matt. "i believe i'm getting batty over this business of clip's. any telegram from short?" "no." nor was any message received that day. neither did anything else develop. the boys remained in the office until midnight, and then, with heavy hearts, went to their room and to bed. "we're a couple of dubs for staying here like we are," said chub. "let's get on our wheels in the morning and roll back where we belong." "we'll wait till monday morning," said matt. "if we can't find out anything by then we'll take the train that leaves here at nine in the morning. our motor-cycles can travel in the baggage-car. i wouldn't feel like taking chances of an accident to the machines on that trip." chub brightened. "that's the talk!" he exclaimed. "we'll wire short to hold the case open till we get there, then you can butt in and tell every blooming thing you know about clip and pima pete. maybe it will help." matt was beginning to think that this was the only thing to be done. if clip wouldn't talk, then, at the last moment, it might be best for his friends to talk for him. next morning there was a whole column in one of the prescott dailies about clip. he had been arraigned, a jury selected, and the taking of testimony had begun. before the closing-hour the prosecution had got in nearly all its evidence. fresnay had been put on the stand. he was made to tell about his ride in the red roadster, about his remark to the effect that he was going to phoenix after the fiddleback pay-roll, and then to describe the hold-up. welcome perkins was forced to testify that clip was in the roadster when fresnay said he was going after the pay-roll, and was questioned about the half-breed who had stopped the cowboy's horse. the paying-teller of the bank got in his evidence as to the amount of money drawn by fresnay, and swore that it was all in double eagles. hogan and leffingwell also added their mite to the evidence against clip; and the money, and the dingy canvas bag, and the pouch were shown. if short accomplished anything on cross-examination, it did not appear in the newspaper record. while the discouraged boys were reading and debating the court proceedings, a hack drove up with passengers from the train that had recently arrived from the south. among these was short himself. matt and chub jumped up excitedly when they saw him. he nodded to them in his usual curt fashion. "i've come up here just to get your affidavits," said he. "our side will have an inning monday morning, but it will be a short one. let's go some place where we can talk. bring pen, ink, and paper." chub got the writing-materials, and matt led the lawyer to their room. "there's not much hope," announced the lawyer, when they were all in the room, "and i don't believe there'd be any hope even if we could make clipperton talk. there isn't a white man who wouldn't believe the half-breed guilty on half the evidence brought out. if we could have butted into the prosecution with a sworn statement from dangerfield, we might have had something to work on. but that's out of the question now." this talk, from clip's attorney, seemed to ring the knell of his fate. "could we do anything if we went on the stand?" asked matt. "you could do something for the prosecution," answered short grimly. "when i saw the line the prosecutor was taking, i was mighty glad you weren't around. all i want from you, king, is a statement that dangerfield wanted you to help pima pete dig up that gold. that will bear out clipperton's story when i put him on the stand. you don't know anything about that, do you, mcready?" chub shook his head. short had arrived on the eight-o'clock train, and he had to leave at nine. by doing that he would reach phoenix early in the afternoon, and he had matters to attend to that couldn't be looked after sunday. having taken matt's statement, short conducted him to the office of a notary public, across the street from the briggs house, and had the document sworn to. then, when they were back at the hotel and waiting for the bus that was to take short to the railroad-station, matt told him about the second note received at mrs. spooner's, about the way he and chub had been pursued on the road to prescott, and about sheriff burke sending men out to look for the two horsemen. "this is all promising," said short, "but it doesn't lead anywhere. we've got to try and make the jury believe that clip and pete dug up dangerfield's gold. anything that helps that impression will do something for our side." the bus was at the door, and short got up to leave. matt, his face white and haggard, walked with the lawyer to the door of the waiting vehicle. "hold the case open, mr. short," said he, "until the train that leaves here at nine o'clock monday morning gets to phoenix. if nothing comes of our work here, i'll be down, go on the stand, and tell _everything_ i know. clip won't like it, and it will make him my enemy, but you can count on me to do that if the worst comes." the lawyer shook his head. "i'll see that the case doesn't go to the jury until that train reaches phoenix," said he, "but i don't think anything you can say will do any good. i've got here"--and he tapped the breast pocket of his coat where he had placed matt's affidavit--"all you can tell about dangerfield's gold. if you got on the stand, you might damage our case more than you'd help it. good-by," and mr. short got into the bus and was driven away. saturday passed, and sunday--blue days for the dispirited boys. sunday night brought on a tremendous storm. lightning flashed, thunder roared, and rain fell in torrents. it was to such an accompaniment of the elements that motor matt gave up hope of accomplishing anything for clipperton. "lucky you told short we'd come back to phoenix on the train, matt," said chub. "it would be three or four days, after this rain, before we could get over the roads on the motor-cycles. whoosh! listen to that, will you?" a tremendous peal of thunder shook the walls of the hotel. "it doesn't rain very much around here, but when it does we get a soaker!" just at that moment matt stepped to the table to put out the light before turning in. he had hardly leaned over the lamp before a pane of one of the windows crashed in and some object slammed against the foot-board of the bed and dropped to the floor. a spurt of wind and rain gushed through the broken window, and the light flared high in the chimney and went out. "somebody threw a rock!" yelled chub, jumping out of bed and darting for the window with a blanket. as soon as the hole had been stopped, matt struck a match and relighted the lamp; then he went over to the foot of the bed and picked up a stone the size of his fist. "fine business," said chub, "standin' out there in the rain an' shyin' rocks through a window! who d'you s'pose did a thing like that?" matt, pushing closer into the yellow lamplight, showed chub the stone: it was wrapped closely with twine, and under the twine was a folded paper. "it's what we've been waiting for, chub!" said matt huskily. chapter xii. the old hopewell tunnel. "well, great centipedes!" gasped chub, staring. "that's a nice way to hand a fellow a letter. why didn't he get a cannon an' shoot it in! suppose one of us had been in front of that window when the mail-wagon came through?" matt, his fingers none too steady, had been busy taking off the twine and getting at the folded paper. the paper was soaked through, and called for great care in opening it out. when it was finally straightened and laid on the table, this penciled message met the eager eyes of the boys: "ole hoapwel tunnnel 8 tirty mundy morning keap it quite" "more news from our old friend that wrote the first note," said chub. "he hasn't improved any in his spelling, and he handles his capitals like a hottentot. give us a free translation, matt." "it's plain enough," said matt. "'be at the old hopewell tunnel at eight-thirty monday morning. keep it quiet.' do you know anything about the old hopewell tunnel, chub?" "why, yes. it's a played-out mine. we passed it coming into town." "could you go there?" "easy." "how far away is it?" "about three miles." "good! now let's go to bed and sleep--if we can. to-morrow," and matt slapped his chum jubilantly on the shoulder, "we're going to do something for clip. i had a hunch all the while that if we waited long enough something would come our way." "we'll be making quick connections with that nine-o'clock train, matt. it's moody's run, too, and i was going back on the engine." "this rain hasn't hurt the going any if the hopewell tunnel is out along the road we followed into town. even clip's machine can turn those three miles in six minutes. that's twelve, going and coming, with a margin of eighteen at the tunnel. i'm feeling better to-night than at any time since we struck prescott." contrary to his expectations, matt slept, and slept well. he had been so loaded down with worry that this ray of hope brought him a feeling of intense relief. it was that, no doubt, that calmed his excited nerves and gave him some rest. he was up bright and early and rousing chub. "turn out, you little runt!" he laughed. "see what a nice, large morning we've got for our work. we're going to get in some good licks for clip--i feel it in my bones." chub hopped out of bed and took a squint through the window. the sun was up, the sky was clear, and everything was glistening with the wet. "seven-thirty," announced matt, as they finished dressing; "that gives us half an hour for breakfast and plenty of time to get to the old hopewell tunnel. hope-well! that certainly sounds good to me." at sharp eight they were on the road, picking their way around street puddles in the direction of the railroad-station. they were to cross the track, close to the station, and reach out along the good road, smooth as macadam, for two miles, after which there was to be a little harder going across country. the train from phoenix was just pulling out for the north when they reached the tracks. the station-agent was out on the platform. "how's number twelve?" yelled chub. "thirty minutes to the bad," answered the agent. "she'll be along at nine-thirty." "we're fools for luck, and no mistake, matt," said chub. "that's the way with luck," returned matt. "when it makes a turn it comes your way in a bunch." the road along the railroad-track had perfect drainage, and it was already so nearly dry that the tires took firm hold without skidding. even after the boys left the road and took a little-used trail across country, they were not bothered to any appreciable extent. the road was sandy, and had soaked up the moisture like a sponge. it was a quarter past eight by matt's watch when they came opposite a tunnel opening in the hillside. there was a platform of rocks at the mouth of the tunnel where the useless matter from the bore had been dropped. "there's where we're going," said chub, pointing to the tunnel, "but we're ahead of time and----" "well, maybe the other fellow's ahead of time, too," broke in matt. "let's go up and see." leaving their machines against the rocks, the boys climbed a twenty-foot bank and arrived at the mouth of the tunnel. there was no one waiting for them, and matt and chub sat down on a couple of boulders to pass the time until some one should come. "who are you expecting to see, anyhow?" asked chub. "don't know," replied matt, "but certainly it's some one who's able and willing to give us a helping hand." "yes; and then again, matt, it may be those two men who tried to corral us at the break in the road. burke hasn't found them yet, or he'd have told you about it long before this. suppose they're working a dodge on us?" this was a startling suggestion, but matt wouldn't take any stock in it. "you're forgetting the writing, chub," said he. "that first note, and the last one, were both by the same fist. there's no doubt about it." the time passed quickly--all too quickly for the anxious boys who were hoping for so much from their interview with the unknown. eight-thirty came, then a quarter to nine, and matt's spirits were fast falling, when there was a noise inside the tunnel. both boys started quickly, and exchanged significant glances. the sounds were like the swishing fall of moccasined feet, and were approaching steadily along the dark passage. presently a swarthy face showed through the murk of the tunnel, and a roughly dressed man pushed into sight. matt bounded up as though touched by a livewire. "pima pete!" he cried. a gleam darted through the half-breed's eyes. "you savvy um, hey?" he returned. "you git um paper-talk, come plenty quick. ugh! _bueno!_" matt stood like one in a daze. he had not been expecting to see pima pete, although he wondered later how he could have expected to see any one else. "you know clipperton's in trouble, don't you?" said matt, suddenly getting control of his wits. "he's arrested, and being tried for stealing josh fresnay's money, and----" "all same savvy," interrupted pima pete, waving his hand. "savvy plenty before me leave phoenix, send paper-talk to motor matt. how we save um? clip heap fine boy. white men make um big mistake. you think um pete better go phoenix, give himself up?" "you told us to be here thursday," said matt. "why didn't you send word to us sooner?" "me no can make um. find trouble. two men b'long to ole gang make um trouble. no let um go to prescott. they hike off last night, then pete write um note, go prescott, throw um note through window. ugh! how we save um clip? odder two men want clip to go to prison. me no want um. what we do, huh?" "where are those other two men?" asked matt. "no savvy." "clip don't want you to come to phoenix," said matt. "if his lawyer can make the jury believe that you and he really dug up that gold, and that it was dangerfield's, there's a chance. understand?" "we dug um, sure!" declared pima pete. an idea rushed through matt's head, an idea that called for quick work. "if i write that out, pete," he continued, speaking quickly, "will you make oath that it's correct." "make um swear? sure. but how me swear, huh?" "we'll have to bring a man out here----" "no!" cried pete, and drew back. "me all same worth one thousan' dol'. you bring um man, he ketch um pete. huh! _muy malo!_ no like um." "there'll be only one man, pete," begged matt, "and he couldn't capture you. remember," he added solemnly, "if you don't make an affidavit there's nothing can save clip!" pima pete straightened up. his mind was none too keen, and he frowned as he thought the matter over. "hurry!" urged matt. "we haven't any time to lose. clip saved your life when the deputy sheriff was going to shoot at you. now's your chance to do something for him." "all ri'," said pima pete suddenly. "you bring um man, me make um swear." matt whirled on chub, his watch in his hand. "it's five minutes of nine, chub," said he, speaking hurriedly, "and here's what you're to do. get on the motor-cycle and rush for prescott. send out that notary public who took my deposition--or any other notary you can find the quickest. have him bring his seal along--don't forget that. we'll meet him at the road that runs along the railroad-track----" "but what good'll that do?" interposed chub. "think i can do all that, come out here, and then both of us get back to the station in time to catch the----" "wait!" broke in matt: "i've got this all figured out. after you start the notary in this direction, leave your motor-cycle at the hotel and go down to the station. if i can get there in time for the train, i will; if i can't, you get aboard, and when you see me along the road have your friend, the engineer, stop----" "stop! jack moody, with thirty minutes to make up! why, matt, he wouldn't stop for love or money." "then," and the old resolute gleam shone in matt's gray eyes, "you stand ready to take pima pete's affidavit from me as i ride alongside the train on the _comet_!" "you can't do it," murmured chub, standing like one in a trance; "you'll be----" "i can, and i will!" cried matt. "it's for clip. hustle and do your part and _i'll do mine_!" matt's very manner was electrifying. chub caught his spirit and arose to the occasion in his best style. "count on me!" he yelled, and tore down the steep slope to the place where he had left the motor-cycle. as matt watched him, he mounted, started the motor with two turns of the pedals--half a turn was all the _comet_ ever needed--and was off. chapter xiii. quick work. motor matt's work was mapped out for him, and he had plenty to do. whirling on the grim-faced half-breed, he dropped down on a boulder and pulled a small motor-cycle catalogue from his pocket. ripping off the cover, which was bare of printing on the inside, he laid it on top of his leather cap, which he placed on his knees. "this will be a queer-looking affidavit," said he, fishing a lead-pencil from his pocket, "but we'll have to make the most of what we have. you see, pete, we're working against time, and every second counts. now listen: "you met tom clipperton in the hills, on the night of the robbery, and took him to the place where dangerfield had buried his money. then you dug it up, went back to the trail, and were set upon by the two deputies. is that it?" "yes," nodded pima pete. "where did dangerfield get that money?" "he sell um cattle two month ago. money heap heavy, him no like to carry um. odder ombrays in gang mebbyso they get bad hearts, want to take um. dangerfield say, 'pete, we bury um; anyt'ing happen to me, you savvy where to find um' ugh! me help dangerfield bury um. he t'ink mebbyso when we ride to mexico from tinaja wells, he dig up gold. but him captured. you savvy. dangerfield send um note by big dog to pima pete, say for him, bymby, have motor matt take um money, send some to emmetsburg, iowa, motor matt keep some, clipperton keep some. whoosh! him bad business. no win out." "and you will swear that all of dangerfield's money was in gold double eagles, and that there was just ten thousand dollars of it?" "sure!" matt's pencil traveled rapidly over the paper. he was careful, however, to make the writing plain and to bear down hard. "what's your real name, pete?" asked matt. "huh?" matt repeated the question. "all same sebastian," said the half-breed, catching matt's drift, "pete sebastian, but me like um pima pete better." matt went back to the beginning of the affidavit and put in the full name, then dropped farther down and resumed his writing. presently it was finished, and matt looked at his watch. it was a quarter past nine! what if jack moody, matt suddenly asked himself, had made up some of his lost time? what if the train was already whipping along the rails on its way out of prescott? matt leaped up frantically and grabbed pete's arm. "come on!" he called. "we'll go down toward the main road and meet the notary." pete drew back. "mebbyso somebody see um pima pete," he demurred, "mebbyso ketch um?" "take a chance, can't you?" flung back matt. "it's for clip! he'd do more than that for you." pima pete hung back no longer, but scrambled down the slippery rocks with matt. "you ride," pete suggested, when they reached the motor-cycle, "me run along. heap good runner. you see." matt followed out the suggestion, and in this way they reached the road. there was no sign of any rig coming from the direction of prescott, and by then it was nine-twenty-five! "see um smoke," said the half-breed, pointing. matt gave a jump as his eyes followed pima pete's pointing finger. an eddying plume of black vapor was hanging against the sky in the vicinity of the prescott station. the smoke issued from a point that was stationary, and that meant, if it meant anything, that no. 12 was alongside the prescott platform. as he watched, scarcely breathing, the fluttering fog of black began moving southward. at that moment a horse and buggy appeared in the road, the one passenger in the vehicle plying a whip briskly. but the horse was tired, and moved slowly. "there's the man we're waiting for!" cried matt. "come on! we'll meet him. i've got to have this acknowledged before that train gets here!" whether this was clear in pima pete's mind or not, was a question. but there was one thing too plain to escape him, and that was matt's wild eagerness to get the work over with as soon as possible. the two started down the road, matt still on his machine and pete running alongside. they could hear the low murmur of the rails, heralding the approach of the train, as they drew to a halt beside the man in the buggy. "well, if it ain't matt king!" exclaimed the notary. "i wasn't expecting to meet you this side the old----" "quick!" shouted matt, handing up the paper. "acknowledge that. i've got to get it aboard this train." "you can't," gasped the notary, "you----" "i _must_!" there was a compelling note in that "must" which caused the notary to jab his spectacles down on his nose and begin, in a rapid mumble, to read off what matt had written. the document began: "i, peter sebastian, otherwise pima pete, formerly one of the dangerfield gang of smugglers." in the excitement of the moment it is quite likely that those ominous words did not strike the notary with their full meaning. at any rate, he did not cease his droning mumble. as he read, he laid the paper down on his lifted knee, humped over it, and mechanically pulled a fountain pen from his pocket. equally as mechanically, and while he was still reading, he uncapped the point of the pen. his seal was on the seat beside him. matt pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket; also an empty envelope. he wanted to enclose the affidavit in a cover so as to safeguard the pencil-work. "hurry!" he called. jack moody, on no. 12, was eating up the two miles that separated the prescott station from that point in the road with tremendous rapidity. the rumble was growing louder and louder. the notary was using the fountain pen. "do you solemnly swear," he asked as he wrote, "that this is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" "ugh!" grunted the dazed pima pete. "yes or no!" roared the notary. "yes!" cried pete, with a jump. "there's your pay!" cried matt. "put the affidavit in that envelope, and be quick." the notary had dropped his fountain pen in the bottom of the buggy, had pulled the seal to his lap, and was bearing down on the handle. the train was almost abreast of them, and the horse, tired though he was, made a frantic jump for the opposite side of the road. pima pete rushed for the animal's head. the notary had come within one of going by the board, but he straightened up and tucked the document into the envelope. matt had turned the _comet_ so that it was pointing south. "there's your letter," called the notary, as matt came past. matt grabbed it, took it in his teeth, and dropped both hands on the grip-control. the last car of the train was opposite him, and the thick, acrid smoke of the engine streamed in his face. nothing daunted by the lead the limited had of him, he opened the _comet_ up for a record run. it was to be the _comet's_ last flight--and it came within a hair's breadth of being motor matt's. chapter xiv. steam versus gasoline. motor matt knew, as well as he knew anything, that there was more speed in the _comet_ than there was in moody's big baldwin engine. moody's running-time was perhaps forty miles an hour. he might, on such a favorable stretch of track, eat into his lost thirty minutes at the rate of fifty miles an hour, but he would hardly dare to do better than that. matt, on the other hand, could get sixty miles an hour out of the _comet_, and even sixty-five if he had to in order to get that letter into chub's hands before the good road jumped into the bog. this meant that he had four miles in which to come up with the locomotive--for chub was riding in the cab with moody, and matt, now that the smoke was behind him, could see his chum hanging from the gangway. the morning sun had dried the road completely, but there was a dampness in the air, and damp weather is a prolific breeder of motor-cycle troubles. if the _comet_ should begin to misfire on the high speed, if---dread possibilities began to flash through matt's mind, but he thrust them aside. he was there to do his utmost for clip, and to hope for the best. out of the tails of his eyes he glimpsed excited faces at the car-windows. the passengers were watching him as he passed the swiftly moving coaches. naturally they could have no idea what his object was in racing with the train, but a look at his set, determined face was enough to convince them that there was a deep purpose back of his work. through the open windows ladies fluttered handkerchiefs, and men pushed out their heads and cheered him. it was a wonderful thing to see that gallant little machine close in on the rushing locomotive. two nerve-racking minutes had passed and two miles of the good road had been covered. this meant that matt had but two minutes more in which to transfer his letter to chub. the _comet_ was alongside the baggage-car now, and matt could see his chum plainly in the gangway. he was leaning far out, holding to the hand-rails with one hand and stretching the other toward matt. "mile-a-minute matt!" yelled chub, in wild encouragement, "king of the motor-boys! come on, pard! a little farther, a little----" just then a hand gripped chub's shoulder and yanked him back into the cab, while an angry voice commanded him to stay inside. matt saw this bit of byplay, and a thrill of apprehension shot through him. the engine crew were not going to let chub take any chances of breaking his neck. would they keep him from taking the letter? but chub himself had something to say about it. there was a scramble in the cab, and the red-headed boy ducked through the window on the fireman's side and reached the foot-board along the boiler. the fireman yelled, and his hand shot through the window after him. chub, however, was quick enough to evade the gripping fingers. holding to the hand-rail, he bent down. he was too high to reach matt, and matt would have had to come dangerously close. the engine was pitching, and swaying, and swinging, but chub hung to the running-board like a monkey, moved along it quickly, dropped to the top of the steam-chest, and flung his right hand to the lamp-bracket, under and to one side of the headlight. he could hear the fireman swearing at his recklessness and coming after him. meanwhile motor matt was whirling along abreast of the big cylinder. "ready?" he shouted; "look sharp!" "hand it up!" and chub leaned forward, one foot in the air and his weight on the lamp-bracket. matt's right hand left the handle-bar, took the envelope from his teeth, and extended it upward. "i've got it, pard!" shouted chub, snatching the letter from motor matt's fingers. a deep breath of relief and satisfaction flickered through matt's tense lips. a hundred small things had conspired to make that race with the limited a success, and a turn for the worse in any one of them would have spelled failure. but it was over and he had won. there was a chance for clip. matt diminished speed slowly. the cars of the train began gliding past him, and the thick smoke covered him as with a pall. he heard yells from the passengers. they were not cheers, but shouts of warning and cries of consternation. what did they mean? matt could see nothing for the moment, the vapor from the engine shrouded him so thickly that it blanketed his view in every direction. nevertheless, he instinctively cut off the power and gripped the brake. yet it is doubtful if he could by any possibility have saved himself, even had he known the full extent and nature of his peril. the _comet_ was under such tremendous headway that a short stop was out of the question. a frenzied whoop broke on matt's ears. at almost the same moment there was a shivering crash, so quick and sudden it was more like an explosion than anything else. it fell to chub to see all this. his chum's danger loomed full on his stricken eyes. with the letter, for which he and matt had risked so much, safe in his pocket, chub had turned and climbed from the top of the steam-chest to the foot-board. in this position he was facing the cab of the engine, and looking back along the wagon-road. matt was completely engulfed in the smoke, and chub could not see him; but chub saw something else that made his heart stand still and sent a sickening fear through every limb. with both shaking hands he hung to the rail that ran along the jacket of the boiler, dipping and lurching with the engine and staring back. a big freight-wagon, drawn by six horses and manned by two freighters, was at a standstill in the road. the horses, frightened by the train, had plunged for the roadside, turning the huge van squarely across the trail. the freighters were on the ground, hanging to the bits of the horses. chub, completely unnerved and his brain benumbed with fears for matt, stared at the huge wagon. the wheels of the vehicle were plastered with mud, for it had just labored through the bog and struck good road. could matt, engulfed as he was in that haze of smoke, see the wagon? certainly he could not _hear_ it, because of the roar of the train; but could he see it, and would he be able to stop the _comet_ in time to avoid a collision? so ran chub's agonized thoughts. although his brain seemed dazed to everything else, yet it was peculiarly alert to all that concerned matt and his peril. then, while chub stared into the receding distance, the sharp detonation of the crash reached his ears. a groan was wrenched from him, and his legs gave way. but for the timely support of the fireman he would have fallen from the locomotive. never had that particular fireman been so scared as he was then. he swore roundly as he dragged chub to the cab and jammed him back through the window. chub fell in a heap on the heaving floor. "you young fool!" roared jack moody, beside himself on account of the boy's narrow escape, "next time i take you in the cab with me you'll know it. i'd look nice facin' your father and your sister and tellin' them you'd dropped off my engine and been ground up under the drivers, wouldn't i?" and the exasperated jack moody said things to himself as he kept one hand on the throttle and the other on the air, and peered ahead. chub, half-lifting himself, caught moody about the knees. "stop!" he begged: "there was an accident back there! matt has been killed! let me off! moody----" "of course there's been an accident!" cried moody, without looking around. "why shouldn't there have been? with two reckless daredevils playin' tag between a motor-cycle and a limited, it's a wonder there wasn't a worse accident than there was." "let me get off!" screamed chub. "if you don't stop, i'll jump!" "sit down on him, jerry," said moody to the fireman. "if he won't act reasonable, lash his hands and feet. we're going to take him to phoenix. i'm an old fool to have such a rattle-headed kid around. we're ten minutes to the good," he added, "and we'll drop into phoenix not more'n five minutes behind the time-card. that's going _some_, eh?" meantime there were two amazed freighters, far back on the road, pulling a white-faced, unconscious boy out of a tangled wreck. "jumpin' gee-mimy!" muttered one of them, in consternation. "that two-wheeled buzz-cart butted into the wagon like a thunderbolt! did ye see it, nick?" "see nothin'!" grunted nick. "the leaders had me off'n my feet about then, an' i didn't have no time to observe nothin'. did he hurt the wagon any, joe?" "knocked the mud off the rear wheels. the wagon weighs twenty-five hundred, but she sure shook when the kid hit it. fine-lookin' young feller," and joe stood up and looked down at motor matt with a foreboding shake of the head. "killed?" queried nick, stepping to his partner's side. "his ticker's goin', but i don't see how he could come through a smash like that there an' live." "me, neither. we'd better load him inter the wagon an' snake him ter a doctor as quick as we kin." "i'll pile up some o' the blankets so'st ter make him comfortable. wait a minit." nick climbed into the wagon and made a cushioned bed in the springless box: then, very gently, motor matt was lifted up and laid down on the makeshift bed. nick climbed down again and found joe picking up scraps of the _comet_. it was a sorry wreck. the once beautiful machine, the pride of motor matt's life, was nothing now but a heap of junk. "purty badly scrambled up," remarked joe. "don't reckon it could ever be fixed. shall we tote scrap inter prescott, nick?" "nary, i wouldn't. leave the stuff whar it is. we got ter git the boy ter town as soon's we kin, an' hadn't ort ter lose time botherin' with sich truck as that." so the horses were straightened around, nick and joe mounted to the seat, the long whip cracked, and the creaking freight-wagon, with its unconscious passenger, got under headway. chapter xv. in court. court had taken up after the noon recess. the evidence was all in, and the prosecuting attorney had made a masterly address demanding a prison sentence for tom clipperton. the prosecutor had so marshaled the evidence that there did not seem a possible hope for clip. the jurymen looked convinced, and the defiant bearing of the prisoner, which at no time had appealed to their sympathies, was far from making such an appeal now. short was in despair. he was not the man, however, to throw up his hands until the jury had announced their verdict and had been polled. short had begun his plea at eleven o'clock. he could have finished by noon, but he was talking against time, and announced that he would complete his address after court reconvened. the train from prescott was due at one-thirty. one of his clerks brought him word that it was five minutes late. with one eye on the clock he continued to reiterate some of the remarks he had already made. the jury looked bored, the prosecuting attorney, who did not know what was up, smiled sarcastically, and the judge settled back in his chair with a look of resignation. just as the hands of the court-room clock pointed to a quarter of two there was a stir at the door. a crowd of excited men surged through, a red-haired boy, haggard, his face and hands covered with the grime of more than a hundred miles in a locomotive-cab, led the crowd. the boy staggered as he pressed through the room toward the enclosure. "evidence!" cried the red-haired boy huskily; "evidence for tom clipperton!" there was a brief period of silence, during which the prisoner jumped to his feet and peered wonderingly at chub mcready. leffingwell, in charge of clipperton, caught his arm and pulled him roughly back into his seat. in another moment a buzz of excitement ran through the room, and was rapidly increasing to an uproar when the bailiff pounded for order. "the room will be cleared," warned the judge, "unless we can have quiet." short, doubtful but snatching at a straw of hope, turned to the judge and requested that the case be reopened for the taking of further evidence. the prosecutor was instantly on his feet with an objection. objection was overruled. "i will call chub mcready to the stand," said short. another objection from the prosecutor. mcready's evidence was already in, according to the representative of the people, in the form of an affidavit. short begged to remind the learned counsel for the state that it was matt king's affidavit that had been read in court, and not mcready's. objection overruled. chub made his way unsteadily to the witness-chair, stood up while he was being sworn, and then dropped down in a way that showed how spent he was with recent efforts. fresh interest was injected into the case. the twelve good men and true in the jury-box were anything but bored now. chub bore all the marks of having passed through a trying ordeal of some kind, and it must have been in behalf of the prisoner. in the dead silence that fell over the room while short was impressively making ready to begin his examination, a piping voice floated through the intense quiet. "shade o' gallopin' dick! it's chub, my leetle pard, chub! him an' motor matt hev been workin' their heads off to git evidence fer clipperton, an' here----" "silence!" thundered the judge. "officer," he added, "if that man makes any more disturbance, put him out." welcome perkins subsided. the prosecutor frowned, and short looked pleased. something had got to the jury which would help, rather than injure, the defendant. "your name?" asked short, facing chub. "mark mcready," came the answer, in a voice that trembled from fatigue and excitement. "age?" "seventeen." "place of residence?" "phoenix." "occupation?" "inventor." somebody snickered. "waal, he is!" cried welcome. "dad-bing!" the officer started toward the reformed road-agent, and welcome ducked into a corner of the room and hid behind a fat man who hadn't been able to find a seat. "i will ask you to tell the jury, mark," said short, "just what you and matt king have been doing in prescott." the prosecutor was on his feet like a shot, objecting, of course. the judge knitted his brows. "if it is pertinent to any evidence already introduced," decided his honor, "it can go in." "it's an affidavit from pima pete!" quavered chub, holding up the letter. "wait!" shouted the prosecutor. "don't speak, my boy, till i ask you something," said short. the prosecutor and short got their heads together at the judge's desk, and the affidavit of pima pete was looked over. "this is entirely relevant," declared the judge, "and we will have it read." the affidavit was handed to the clerk, and he read the same in a loud, incisive voice. the document stated, in clear, crisp terms, that the deponent was one peter sebastian, otherwise known as pima pete, that he had been a member of dangerfield's gang of smugglers, told how dangerfield had sold cattle and buried ten thousand dollars in double eagles, had intended to dig the money up on his way to mexico, and had been captured before he could carry out his plans. the affidavit then went on to state how dangerfield had requested motor matt to dig up the money for him, claiming that it was honest money, and send the lion's share of it to dangerfield's father, in emmetsburg, iowa; how pima pete had given a note to clipperton, asking him to tell matt to come for the gold; how matt had refused to mix up with pete, and how clipperton had gone, had joined pete, had helped dig up the gold, and how both had been set upon by hogan and leffingwell. that affidavit, written by motor matt in a tearing hurry, was a model of clearness and brevity. the prosecutor was on hand with a whole lot of objections, aimed at having the affidavit stricken from the record. in the first place, the affidavit was in lead-pencil. this was unusual, and would allow of changing its contents; in the next place, how were they to know that pima pete, a proscribed outlaw, was the real author of the document? and what credence was a half-breed entitled to, anyway, even when under oath? by all these objections the prosecutor, to use a very figurative expression, "put his foot in it." short was obliged to show, by the witness, just how the affidavit had been secured, and an opening was made for the tale of pluck and daring in which matt and chub had just figured. chub, at times almost overcome with weariness and grief, told the story. it was a telling recital, and held the great roomful of people spellbound. the jurymen leaned forward in their chairs, the judge leaned over his table, everybody craned their necks and listened intently so that not a word might get away from them. chub told how he and matt had made up their minds to do everything they could to free their innocent chum; how matt had drawn from the bank some of the money paid for the capture of dangerfield, and had declared he would use every last cent of it to free clip, who had got into his trouble on dangerfield's account; how they had gone to prescott, after receiving the tip at mrs. spooner's; how they had been chased by the two horsemen, and had got away by leaping the break in the road; how the weary days had dragged by in prescott; how matt had started sheriff burke to searching for the real robbers; how the note, tied to the stone, had been hurled through the hotel window on the night of the storm; and how the witness and matt had gone to the old hopewell shaft and met pima pete. if the interest up to that point had been absorbing, it now became even more so. chub, in his quivering tones, went on to describe the meeting with pima pete, and matt's plan for taking his affidavit, having a notary rushed out from prescott, and then passing the document up to chub on the limited. chub had fortunately found the notary in his office; and in front of the office a horse and buggy were standing. he had hustled the notary off in short order, and had then gone to the station and taken the train, riding in the cab with jack moody, the engineer, who was a friend of the witness' father. just how matt had accomplished the taking of the affidavit, chub could not tell. all he knew was that when the limited dashed along the rails, some two miles out of prescott, the notary, matt, and pima pete were in the wagon-road, pima pete holding the notary's horse and matt climbing after the train on his motor-cycle, the _comet_, the machine matt had won in a bicycle-race. then chub, mightily worked up himself and showing it in every word and gesture, proceeded to tell how he had tried to lean from the gangway and take the letter from matt; how he had been thrown back by the fireman, only to get through the cab-window, hurry along the running-board, drop down on the steam-chest, and snatch the letter from motor matt's fingers. a sob came from him as he described how, standing on the foot-board and gripping the rail, he had seen the freight-wagon in the road and had heard a crash as matt had collided with it, being unable to see ahead on account of the smoke, and unable, even if he had seen his danger, to stop the terrible impetus of a motor-cycle going at the rate of a mile a minute. here, at the finish of his recital, chub mcready broke down. in spite of the bailiff's half-hearted attempt to keep order, pandemonium broke loose. susie mcready ran to her brother's side, and welcome, nearly oversetting the fat man, tore through the shouting crowd to get to the witness-chair. finally, order was again restored, and short, bland and mightily satisfied with the turn of events, asked the prosecutor to "take the witness." the prosecutor had nothing to say, and chub got down and walked wearily to a seat beside susie and welcome. and clip! the first real feeling he had shown he showed then. with his face in his hands he leaned across the table beside which he was sitting. short finished his plea. he did not consume much time, for he was an astute lawyer and knew when he had his jury with him. jurymen are emotional, as well as any one else; they can weigh the evidence, but sentiment cuts a big figure in any jury's decision--just how big probably even the jurymen themselves do not know. the judge's charge was brief. he asked the jurymen to weigh the facts irrespective of the impression the heroism of the prisoner's friends might have had on them. and when the charge was finished, without leaving their seats, a verdict of "not guilty" was rendered. then bedlam broke loose again. everybody crowded around tom clipperton to congratulate him. but clipperton, pushing his way through the crowd, started for the door. "my pard!" he cried. "he's hurt, perhaps dead! i must get to prescott." chapter xvi. conclusion. matt king opened his eyes in his old room at the briggs house. the roar of the limited was still in his ears, and the awful grinding crash that he had last heard. sheriff burke was sitting beside the bed and there were innumerable bandages about matt's body and a strong smell of drugs in the room. "how's everything?" matt mumbled, trying to sit up. burke gently pushed him back. "fine and dandy, matt," said he: "but, best of all, is the way you got out of that smash." "oh, is it you, mr. burke?" queried matt. "surest thing you know," laughed burke. "that was a great race you made. racin' the limited! first time it was ever done in these parts." "who brought me in?" went on matt. "a couple of freighters who were with the wagon you ran into. they thought you were going to turn up your toes, but 'not for him,' says i. 'that boy,' i says, 'wasn't born to be snuffed out in a little smash like that.' but you've been unconscious for quite a while." "how long?" "well, it's five o'clock now, and you had your race along about nine-forty, this morning." "what's the matter with me?" demanded matt, in consternation. "i'm not badly hurt, am i? i don't feel as though i was." "not a bone broken, and that's the wonder of it. you hit that wagon like an earthquake, they say. you've had the skin scraped off you in several places, but the doctor says you'll be as well as ever in a week--providing there are no internal injuries." "well," said matt, "there aren't any. i'd know it, i guess, if there was." "i guess you would." "heard anything from phoenix?" "got news that will make you feel like a fighting-cock! a telegram got here sayin' that clipperton has been freed----" "glory!" "mcready got there in time to flash the affidavit of pima pete's before the case went to the jury; but the telegram says it wasn't the affidavit that turned the trick so much as the grit and determination of you and mcready in getting the document to phoenix." "but clip's innocent! everybody's got to know that." "everybody _will_ know it, too," averred the sheriff. "the two men who took the money from fresnay were captured by three of the men i sent out on your tip. they brought the rascals in, not more than an hour ago, gold and all--not early enough to free clipperton, but in plenty of time to set him straight with anybody who still had a doubt of his innocence. i wired the news to phoenix an hour ago, and mckibben and some more people will be up on to-night's freight." there seemed to be nothing more that motor matt could wish for. but he roused up from a reverie to ask after the _comet_. "that motor-cycle," said burke, "is a mass of junk. you've had your last ride on it, matt. you did a lot of good work with that machine." "but the best work i ever did with it," said matt, "i did this morning. what i accomplished for clip was worth the price. and chub! talk about pluck and grit, he showed it if ever a fellow did." "you both showed it," said burke. "one of the captured scoundrels, torrel by name, has turned state's evidence. he told me all about everything. says he, and the fellow with him, have been staying at the house of a mexican in phoenix, ever since the dangerfield gang was put out of business. they knew dangerfield had buried ten thousand dollars in gold, not far away in the hills, and they knew pima pete had been let into the secret of the cache. they were in phoenix watching pete. a mexican, belonging to the place where the two outlaws were staying, carried a note to you that had been given him by pete. this was after the robbery----" "but how did torrel and his pal know about the pay-roll money?" interposed matt. "if they were watching pete in order to locate dangerfield's gold----" "that's right," broke in burke, "i'm getting a little ahead of my yarn. well, they heard from some one that fresnay had come to town after the ranch-money. that gave them the idea they could make a rich haul without bothering with pete, so they went out in the hills and made it. they learned, next morning, that clipperton and pete had been captured, that pete had got away, and that circumstances pointed to clipperton as the thief--clip and pete; see?" "then torrel and his pal came back into phoenix. that was the time they got next to the note sent by pete to you. the mexican messenger had read it. the real thieves knew at once that pima pete was planning to save clip, and, naturally, torrel and his pal didn't want it that way. if clip and pete were believed guilty, then the real thieves could enjoy their loot without having the authorities bother them. so torrel's pal tried to bluff you out by sending the mexican with a warning. you wouldn't be bluffed. the two scoundrels laid for you in the hills--and you showed them your heels." "what did torrel and his pardner want to hang around prescott for?" queried matt. "why didn't they skip when they had a chance?" "they were expecting to meet another of the old gang at the old hopewell tunnel. they went there to meet him, and found pima pete. then they held pete a prisoner in the tunnel until they thought the law had taken care of clip, got word that the man they were waiting for was in maricopa, and pulled out early sunday night, in the storm. that was the last of them, and their move once more gave pete a free hand, for since that money of dangerfield's had been taken in charge by the state as that stolen from fresnay, they had no reason to hold pete." "what about the fellow at maricopa?" "i wired that town and an officer went after him. but the man will not be caught--i'm positive of that." "have you captured pete?" a queer look crossed burke's face. "i reckon i could have captured him, if i'd tried to right hard," said he slowly, "but i didn't try." "why not?" "well, he showed himself a good deal of a man, for a half-breed, and i'm not hungry to make a thousand off of him." matt reached out his hand and gave the sheriff's big paw a cordial grip. "i'm glad you feel that way," said he. "i can't explain, but what you say does me a lot of good." it was half-past ten that night before the phoenix delegation arrived in prescott. mckibben and leffingwell came, and clip, and chub, and welcome perkins, and--last but not least--susie. susie was going to take care of matt until he was well enough to dispense with a nurse. it is useless to dwell on the meeting of these friends with matt. clip's dark eyes expressed his feelings, and henceforth only death could wipe out the close friendship born of recent exciting events. in a week, so well was matt looked after, that he was up and around--not quite as full of ginger as ever, but rapidly getting back into his old form. he had more money in the bank, too--even after short had corralled the $500--than he had before clipperton had got into difficulties. some of dangerfield's gold came to him--matt would only take enough to offset short's fee and other expenses--and there was a "rake-off" from the $2,000 burke received for the capture of tolliver and his partner. motor matt, when he went back to phoenix, found himself more popular than ever. he had lost the game little _comet_, but it was only a start for higher things in the motor line. just what these things were, and the fame and fortune they brought to motor matt will be touched upon in the next story. the end. the next number (5) will contain motor matt's mystery or, foiling a secret plot. a dutchman in trouble--the runaway auto--the man at the roadside--the mystery deepens--matt gets a job--concerning the letter--the two horsemen--on the road--in the hands of the enemy--a shift in the situation--a surprise--escape--the hut in the hills--back to the car--a race and a ruse--in ash fork. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, march 20, 1909. terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, 5c. each. 3 months 65c. 4 months 85c. 6 months $1.25 one year 2.50 2 copies one year 4.00 1 copy two years 4.00 =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, 79-89 seventh avenue, new york city. the tennis-ground mystery. by oliver k. rosse. it was about half-past six, one brilliant morning in june, and the boys of bidford school were dressing themselves, preparatory to "scudding" for the river, wherein to take their customary seven-o'clock "dip." every one was out of bed, skipping to and fro, as lively as grasshoppers, throwing wet sponges at one another, and indulging in divers other jocular vagaries, which sufficiently accounted for the many strange noises and the repeated loud bursts of laughter that greeted the listening ear. the inmates of dormitory number one were the younger members of the school, and the merriest and most popular of all were caggles and bottlebury. "i say, bottlebury," cried caggles, a youth who had a deal of confidence in his own powers, "i'll swim you this morning, and 'lick' you by a dozen yards." "all right," said bottlebury; "but you can bet your life i'll have the laugh on you! i've been putting in a lot of practise lately." "that's what you always say, 'bot,' old bird." "well! it's right enough. whoop! here's a black beetle in one of my shoes!" "don't kill it! it's mine," cried a lanky youth, dashing forward. "look here, fuzzy, you beast," said bottlebury, "you'll get punched until you're black and blue if you bring such disgusting creeping reptiles up here." fuzzy was an amateur naturalist, and delighted to keep a stock of living insects about his person, in pill-boxes. "this fellow got loose," he said, as he fearlessly picked up the coal-black beetle and popped it into the small cardboard prison which he had ready. "i say, 'cag,'" resumed bottlebury, "it's our turn to roll the tennis-ground." "so it is," said caggles; "won't it be hot work if the sun hangs out all day!" "i should say so!" assented his friend. "i say, though, you were dreaming like a madman last night." "was i?" laughed caggles; "i'm an awful fellow to dream. i used to walk in my sleep, but i've got over that. they say it comes of having an active brain." "aye; and they say that kids with active brains like that generally turn out to be tip-top poets and authors." "do they?" said caggles, suddenly imagining himself a budding genius. "oh," said bottlebury, with delightfully refreshing candor, "i don't suppose it means anything in your case, you know." "why?" asked the disappointed caggles, in an injured tone of voice. "well, i don't think you've got enough brains for 'em to be active. it'll be active nerves in your case. it's just the same, only it's different; see?" "was i talking in my sleep?" asked caggles, anxious to change the subject. "i think so. i just caught something about 'moles,' but i went to sleep pretty soon after." "well, i've been wishing for a mole," said caggles; "tupman says they've got no eyes, and i say they have. i'm going to hunt for one of the little beggars, just to see who's right." at that juncture the door was flung open, and crieff, one of the oldest boys in the school, rushed into the dormitory, red and breathless, and minus his cap. now, crieff was usually a very sedate fellow, and went about as stately as an oriental grandee. his neck was rather long, and at every stride he stiffened his legs and bulged out his chest, so that he was suggestive, somewhat, of a dignified stork. the boys of the dormitory were astonished, therefore, to see him in so breathless and limp a state. "what's up?" asked caggles, with mouth agape. "the tennis-ground!" gasped crieff, mopping his face with a handkerchief. the tennis-ground at bidford school was reputed to be one of the finest in the whole neighborhood. it had been specially laid, and its smooth surface was as level as a billiard-table. every boy was proud of it, and crieff tended it with the anxiety of a father. "what's up with it?" asked two or three voices. "spoiled! ruined!" said crieff, almost with tears in his eyes. "never!" cried bottlebury. "it is. somebody has dug holes all over it with a spade. i've just been down and seen it." "it was all right yesterday afternoon," said caggles, with an expression of disgust on his face. "some one must have done it in the night," said crieff; "i believe it's one of those village kids i thrashed last week for throwing stones." "very likely," said caggles; "they'll do anything for spite." "they used our spade, too," continued crieff; "the one out of the shed. the lock of the door has been useless for some time, you know. they must have gone in and taken out the spade; i found it lying on the ground." the inmates of the dormitory stood aghast. a grand match between themselves and a neighboring school had been fixed for this coming saturday. under the peculiar circumstances this, of course, would have to be postponed. hastily finishing their toilet, the boys accompanied crieff to the tennis-ground, where they saw that his account was only too true. the ground was dug up in a dozen places. exclamations of rage rose from the fast-increasing crowd of boys, and energetic discussions were entered upon, until quite a confusing uproar prevailed. "whoever it was," said caggles, almost bursting with wrath, "they ought to be kicked." "i say, crieff," said bottlebury, "do you think they'll come again?" "i don't think so," was the answer; "still, they may. i'm just trying to think of a way to catch the scoundrels." "put a lot of rat-traps about," suggested a small boy. "man-traps, you mean," said caggles. "yes; that's it--man-traps," said the small boy. "where'll you get 'em from?" asked caggles, as if bent on calling down derision on the youngster. "oh, anywhere--buy 'em," replied the small boy, in a vague way. "but where from, you young ass?" "where they sell 'em;" and the small boy fled in time to miss caggles' foot. "well," said dumford, "if there's a doubt whether they'll pay us a second visit, it'll be hardly worth while sitting up all night." suddenly caggles gave a cry of extreme pleasure. "i know a good plan," he said; "i'll get a ball of strong, thin twine, fasten one end to the spade in the shed, carry the ball across the field, and up-stairs to the dormitory, and then tie the other end to my big toe. if any one walks off with the spade, the string will pull my toe and waken me. then, down-stairs we go, and ask the midnight visitor if he wants any help." crieff laughed. "it's a good idea," said he, "and there's no harm in trying it. it may answer and it may not. the schoolhouse isn't a hundred yards away." "very well," said caggles, with a gleeful chuckle, "i'll get the twine and try it to-night. let's roll the ground. they'll very likely to come again if they see we've patched it up." this was done, the twine purchased, and that night caggles got into bed with his toe attached to one end of the string and the spade in the shed tied to the other. poor caggles! he little thought what a laugh there was to be at his expense. for a considerable time the inmates of no. 1 dormitory lay awake in a state of anxious expectation, half-expecting to see caggles dragged out of bed and go hopping down the room, with his big toe nearly pulled out by the roots, so to speak. but nothing happened, and one by one they closed their eyes and went to sleep, until all were wrapped in slumber. even caggles--despite the uncomfortable sensation of the twine round his toe--was not long in succumbing to drowsiness, for he was very tired, having rolled the tennis-ground all that afternoon. just as the faint sounds of the schoolroom clock striking one floated up-stairs, bottlebury woke with a start, having dreamed that he was falling down a coal-mine. he wiped the perspiration of fear from his brow, rubbed his eyes, and sat upright. then, turning his gaze in the direction where caggles always slept, he saw by the light of the moon, which streamed in at the window, that his chum was not to be seen. his bed was empty! in an instant bottlebury was on his feet. "wake up, you fellows!" he cried, as he dragged his trousers on. "wake up! d'you hear?" dumford popped up his head and asked what the row was over. "caggles isn't in bed," said bottlebury excitedly; "he's felt the string tug, i s'pose, and has hurried off without us." in another minute every boy had donned his nether garments, and then away they went, pell-mell, down the darkened stairs. as they rushed outdoors they descried a figure, clad in naught but a night-shirt, making for the tennis-ground. "why, that's caggles!" said dumford. "what on earth has he come out like that for?" queried bottlebury; "he'll catch his death of cold." "make no row," warned dumford. "it strikes me there's something peculiar about this affair. let's follow him quietly." caggles made straight for the shed, and, opening the door, disappeared inside. in a few seconds he reappeared with the spade in his grasp, and, walking up to the tennis-ground, began to dig. the onlookers gasped with amazement, and a light dawned on their minds. "he's asleep," whispered dumford; "it was nobody but he who dug the ground before." "by jove!" was all that the astonished bottlebury could say--so unlooked-for was the revelation. suddenly caggles was seen to fall to the ground. the twine had twisted round his legs and thrown him. bottlebury was quickly at his side and assisted him to his feet. "what's this?" said caggles, in great bewilderment, the fall evidently having brought him to his waking senses. "come along in," said bottlebury; "you'll catch rheumatics, or something." caggles looked, in a dazed way, first at the spade and then at his now grinning companions. "did i do it?" he asked. "i suppose so," replied bottlebury; "but what in the name of goodness made you? what were you digging for?" "moles," said caggles, after a slight pause, in which he shivered with cold; "i--i suppose i must have come out to look for moles." and so he had. the assertion made by tupman that moles were blind had caused him to long to test the truth of the statement. he even dreamed of the subject, following which a somnambulistic desire to dig for moles in the tennis-ground was born within him. he never heard the last of the ludicrous adventure, and bottlebury had a thorough good laugh at him. the nocturnal mole-hunter thenceforth slept in a small room by himself, with the door securely locked and a patent "catch" on the window, "so that"--as some one facetiously remarked--"he should not again have necessity to tie spades to his toes." make queer catches at cape cod. many strange fish come to the nets of the weirsmen of cape cod. the collection of the amateur photographer who summered at provincetown a season would not be complete without a plate of some of them to show wondering friends on winter evenings. most striking, perhaps, would be the giant horse-mackerel, which were often seen. "four-hundred-pounders each" they were, according to the offhand estimate of the local old salt who named them for the summer folks edification. they were indeed a handsome couple, although only medium-sized representatives of a marine clan--_orcynus thynnus_--of which hundreds are annually taken at provincetown in the big "catchalls," commonly termed weirs. in a small way, the horse-mackerel is a gladiator. prior to his advent, the sand-lance, the mackerel, the herring, pollock, and dogfish make regular visitation in cape cod bay. when the breaching "sea-tiger," or horse-mackerel, with great goggle eyes staring stonily and lemon-hued, rearanal fins glittering goldlike in the shadow of its under body, comes rushing upon the scene, all minor species hurriedly decamp. the horse-mackerel, or its familiar, is common in the mediterranean, where it is known as the tuna, or tunny. for centuries the flesh of the tuna has been highly esteemed by the latin races. packed in oil, or salted, it has, since the days of the phoenicians, been a very widely known commodity in the mediterranean trade. the horse-mackerel occurs in the west atlantic as far north as the gulf of st. lawrence. it puts in an appearance at provincetown early in june customarily, remaining in the vicinity until about october. when much of the fishing-work there was performed by means of nets, the horse-mackerel was both a source of revenue and a pest to the small boatman; but the oil taken from it more than compensates for the loss resulting from its ravages upon nets. one would suppose that the fishermen's nets would speedily be ruined by the creatures, but such is not the case. upon striking a floating net, the horse-mackerel goes, bulletlike, straight through it--unlike the shark, which, rolling itself in the netting, tears the same enormously--making a clean, round hole, easy to repair. individuals weighing as much as 1,500 pounds have, it is said, been taken. specimens of that weight are not taken off provincetown, however, the average specimens weighing from 400 to 500 pounds, with an occasional 900 or 1,000-pounder. the average length is about eight feet. horse-mackerel were seldom, if ever, used for food in this country until within a few years. at present quite all specimens taken in weirs are sent to city markets, where a ready sale at a good price is assured among immigrants from the south of europe. no horse-mackerel need now be set adrift as worthless, as was formerly the custom. usually the capture of a weir-imprisoned horse-mackerel is not a matter of great difficulty. once in a while, however, the great strength of an individual nearly prevails over the efforts of its jailers. for instance: in july, 1897, captain henry j. lewis, a skilful weir-manipulator, found in his harbor trap a big horse-mackerel, exhausted and apparently dead upon the dried-in "lint" when the crew gathered in the netting. the disengaged end of the main throat-halyards was made fast to the tail of the supposedly dead fish, the bight was loosely attached to the main-sheet traveler, and skipper lewis and his helper straightway began to bail in herring. all at once the stern of the boat settled. down it went, suddenly, and water began to pour into the standing-room. the horse-mackerel had regained consciousness and was making the fact known. mate james hurriedly unloosed the halyards, and the immense fish disappeared below the surface and renewed its fight for freedom. as the fish scurried away, the halyards tautened. the main-gaff started aloft, drawn by the hoisting-gear. the gaff-end caught, held securely for a moment, then broke, and up in a trice went the bellying sail, with broken spar dangling. for a moment all was confusion on the boat. the fish, a 900-pounder, in one of its rushes approached the boat's quarter. one of the crew, ax in hand, delivered a swinging blow at him, but the agile horse-mackerel easily avoided it. an instant later the strong wind struck full upon the bagging canvas and laid the boat over, well upon her side. a capsize seemed imminent. correctly sizing up the situation, mate manuel james seized a sharp knife and with one stroke severed the halyards. immediately the horse-mackerel, with all but a small portion of the main-halyards tied to its tail, vanished like a flash through the broadside netting of the weir, vanished for good. lewis, owner thereof, gave vent to sundry explosive ejaculations. cape cod weirs scoop in many unexpected water-creatures. recently a forty-foot-long--estimated--right-whale entered o'neil's head of harbor provincetown floating traps. annoyed a half-hour later by would-be captors, this huge animal, bearing within its mouth baleen worth probably $2,000, with one rush burst through the heavy netting and went away to sea, leaving a badly torn weir behind. in august, 1908, a baby finback whale, just out of leading-strings, evidently, it being only fifteen feet long, entered blatchford's weir and was slain. the creature was exhibited under a tent upon the main beach. the lewis-james weir captured, october 9 of the same year, a bone shark seventeen feet long. the skin of that rare creature was removed intact, and is now being tanned for mounting by the purchaser, david c. stull, known as the ambergris king. this species--_cetophinus maximus_--a native of arctic seas, is one of the largest of sharks. sluggish in movement, the bone shark swims lazily at the surface, apparently indifferent to the approach of boats. food found in its stomach comprises a red, pulpy mass, probably the roe of sea-urchins. the teeth are small--the stull specimen hadn't the vestige of a tooth, being very young--and the gill-rakers--a sort of galway whisker worn inside, instead of outside, the throat--would indicate that it feeds at the surface, straining its food, as does the baleen-bearing whale. a half-dozen years ago a west indian sea-turtle, with a plump remora--sucking fish--adhering to its under shell, was taken from the "jim" lewis weir. very recently the largest lobster known to have been captured in provincetown harbor was taken from the eastern weir. its weight was twenty-three pounds, and its length, tail end to outer end of forward extended claws, was forty-two inches. this giant crustacean, carefully mounted, now graces mr. stull's museum of marine curios. recent sizable lot arrivals of fishes once deemed worthless at provincetown, include the shadine, scientifically known as _etrumeus sadinia_, a species which occurs as far south as the gulf of mexico, but is most commonly found in florida and carolina waters, and the species variously called saury, billfish, skipper, and skipjack, the latter because of its surface-bounding habit when pursued by the horse-mackerel and bonito. the shadine appeared at provincetown for the first time, and in large numbers, in october, 1908. they are very valuable. the saury, or billfish--_scomberesox sauris_--is found in all parts of the north atlantic. cod feed voraciously upon them. this long-beaked, slender-bodied species feeds upon soft, pelagic animals, its teeth being very minute. this species, formerly considered worthless in provincetown, has suddenly leaped into favor. all caught there are eagerly sought by new york and boston commission men. cold fire. cold fire is a coming invention. so also is heatless light. you may find them in nature already, if you but inquire intelligently into her secrets. cold flame is exemplified in the firefly, and the glowworm gives forth heatless light. such flames and lights are not mysteries. their cause is due to one of the subtlest forces in the universe--ether. only in an indirect way are the human senses acquainted with this wonderful substance. yet ether flows through the earth's atmosphere in mighty currents, unchecked, resistless, and subtle. the ether is the direct parent of the x-ray and the speech of the wireless telegraph. when man shall attain the perfect vacuum, then the rude ether blush of the electric-light bulb will give forth many times more light, purified and heatless, soft and healing as the light of the stars, penetrating as the sun. an examination of the firefly, when emitting flames or light, shows bodily movements that cannot be understood to mean anything else than vacuum producing. the lights are always seen in the vacuum sac on the back. immediately before emitting light, the insect will flatten the body, draw the legs in, droop the head, seemingly contracting in all directions; then with the relaxation comes the flame and light. the bodies of the glowworm and firefly always are transparent when filled with flame. the blades of grass or other debris are seen plainly through the bodies. here are cases of nature anticipating man and dealing with x-rays. _especially important!!_ motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ 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. 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? 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 "=motor matt; or, the king of the wheel=." 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. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. 1. motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. 2. motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. 3. motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. 4. motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. 32 large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ numbers 1 to 396 tip top weekly are contained in the medal library 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. 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. _the_ new medal library at fifteen cents [illustration] 150--frank merriwell's school-days. 167--frank merriwell's chums. 178--frank merriwell's foes. 184--frank merriwell's trip west. 189--frank merriwell down south. 193--frank merriwell's bravery. 197--frank merriwell's hunting tour. 201--frank merriwell in europe. 205--frank merriwell at yale. 209--frank merriwell's sports afield. 213--frank merriwell's races. 217--frank merriwell's bicycle tour. 225--frank merriwell's courage. 229--frank merriwell's daring. 233--frank merriwell's athletes. 237--frank merriwell's skill. 240--frank merriwell's champions. 244--frank merriwell's return to yale. 247--frank merriwell's secret. 251--frank merriwell's danger. 254--frank merriwell's loyalty. 258--frank merriwell in camp. 262--frank merriwell's vacation. 267--frank merriwell's cruise. 271--frank merriwell's chase. 276--frank merriwell in maine. 280--frank merriwell's struggle. 284--frank merriwell's first job. 288--frank merriwell's opportunity. 292--frank merriwell's hard luck. 296--frank merriwell's protã©gã©. 300--frank merriwell on the road. 304--frank merriwell's own company. 308--frank merriwell's fame. 312--frank merriwell's college chums. 316--frank merriwell's problem. 320--frank merriwell's fortune. 324--frank merriwell's new comedian. 328--frank merriwell's prosperity. 332--frank merriwell's stage hit. 336--frank merriwell's great scheme. 340--frank merriwell in england. 344--frank merriwell on the boulevards. 348--frank merriwell's duel. 352--frank merriwell's double shot. 356--frank merriwell's baseball victories. 359--frank merriwell's confidence. 362--frank merriwell's auto. 365--frank merriwell's fun. 368--frank merriwell's generosity. 371--frank merriwell's tricks. 374--frank merriwell's temptation. 377--frank merriwell on top. 380--frank merriwell's luck. 383--frank merriwell's mascot. 386--frank merriwell's reward. 389--frank merriwell's phantom. 392--frank merriwell's faith. 395--frank merriwell's victories. 398--frank merriwell's iron nerve. 401--frank merriwell in kentucky. 404--frank merriwell's power. 407--frank merriwell's shrewdness. 410--frank merriwell's set-back. 413--frank merriwell's search. 416--frank merriwell's club. 419--frank merriwell's trust. 422--frank merriwell's false friend. 425--frank merriwell's strong arm. 428--frank merriwell as coach. 431--frank merriwell's brother. 434--frank merriwell's marvel. 437--frank merriwell's support. 440--dick merriwell at fardale. 443--dick merriwell's glory. 446--dick merriwell's promise. 449--dick merriwell's rescue. 452--dick merriwell's narrow escape. 455--dick merriwell's racket. 458--dick merriwell's revenge. 461--dick merriwell's ruse. 464--dick merriwell's delivery. 467--dick merriwell's wonders. 470--frank merriwell's honor. 473--dick merriwell's diamond. 476--frank merriwell's winners. 479--dick merriwell's dash. 482--dick merriwell's ability. 485--dick merriwell's trap. 488--dick merriwell's defense. 491--dick merriwell's model. 494--dick merriwell's mystery. =published about january 5th= 497--frank merriwell's backers. =published about january 26th= 500--dick merriwell's backstop. =published about february 16th= 503--dick merriwell's western mission. =published about march 9th= 506--frank merriwell's rescue. =published about march 30th= 509--frank merriwell's encounter. =published about april 20th= 512--dick merriwell's marked money. =published about may 11th= 515--frank merriwell's nomads. =published about june 1st= 518--dick merriwell on the gridiron. =published about june 22nd= 521--dick merriwell's disguise. street & smith, _publishers_, new york city transcriber's notes: added table of contents. bold is represented with =equal signs=, italics with _underscores_. changed oe ligatures to oe; ligatures retained in html edition. retained some questionable spellings of scientific names from the original. retained possible typos in dialogue due to possibility of intentional dialect. page 2, added missing period after "what we're goin'." page 3, removed unnecessary quote before "but the command...." page 6, changed "howdy, matt?" to "howdy, matt!" and "you eye-winkers" to "your eye-winkers." page 7, changed "peter" to "pete" in "pima pete came here." page 8, removed stray quote after "or any one else." page 10, removed stray quote after "spoke up fresnay." page 12, changed "saws he dug" to "says he dug." page 17, removed stray quote after "rolled into bed." page 30, "they'll very likely to come again" looks like an error, but this is retained as printed. courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. 3 mar. 13, 1909 five cents motor matt's century run or the governor's courier [illustration: "take him, bolivar!" yelled the man, and motor matt was brought suddenly face to face with unexpected peril.] 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. 3. new york, march 13, 1909. price five cents. motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. welcome takes a sudden drop. chapter ii. a queer situation. chapter iii. "rags." chapter iv. a dangerous mission. chapter v. the red roadster. chapter vi. surmounting the difficulty. chapter vii. smoke-signals. chapter viii. on the divide. chapter ix. a ruse that won. chapter x. at potter's gap. chapter xi. joe bascomb. chapter xii. bolivar turns up. chapter xiii. the red roadster again. chapter xiv. on to phoenix! chapter xv. the end of the mystery. chapter xvi. matt reports to the governor. one thousand dollars reward. 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." =mckibben=, the sheriff who has both nerve and intelligence. =juan morisco=, a mexican of low degree, and a rascal as well. =tom clipperton=, known generally as "clip," a quarter-blood, who is very sensitive about his indian ancestry. =the governor=, head of the state, and a friend of matt. =gregory=, a rancher. =dangerfield=, the leader of the smugglers; who has another name. =burke=, another sheriff, who lands his man. "=rags=," a little girl waif whom matt befriends, to his profit later. chapter i. welcome takes a sudden drop. "ready, perk?" "hold up there, chub! don't ye git in sich a tarnal hurry. what am i goin' to do with this here rope?" "why, cast it off, of course. how can you expect to fly with the rope holdin' you back?" "waal, now, wait; le's understand this thing. it's my idee, ain't it?" "sure. you drew the plans an' i put the machine together." "if any picters is published in the papers, mine goes in bigger'n yours, don't it?" "that's all to the good, perk. when the reporters write this up, you'll be the king-pin. the invention is yours, and all i did was to put it together. but you're a pretty old man to try it out, perk. you'd better let me take the first spin." "bein' the inventor, i reckon i got a right to show off a little. purty nigh all my life i been a hootin', tootin' disturber o' the peace, committin' depperdations as makes me blush to think of; but right here is where i do somethin' fer civilization an' progress, which'll go a good ways to'rds makin' up fer the past. i'm plumb hungry, chub, to hear folks say: 'that there flyin' machine is the biggest thing o' the twentieth century, an' welcome perkins done it. he used to be a howlin', cut-an'-slash desperado in his younger days, but now he's turned over a new leaf, an' is devotin' his shinin' abilities to forwardin' the cause o' progress as much as he used to be fer holdin' it back.' that's what i wants to hear folks say as they're p'intin' me out, an'----" "oh, slush! if you stand up there chinning much longer, perk, somebody'll come. you want this to be a private flight, don't you?" "jest at the beginnin', till i see if everythin' works all right. if there ain't any hitch. i want to make it as public as possible. i'd be tickled to have the hull town come out an' see me cuttin' figger eight's in the clouds. 'it can't be that one-legged feller up there is welcome perkins, the ole ex-pirate o' the plains as has been living right here among us, can it?' the people will say, awed-like, turnin' to each other. then i'll fly low, so'st to let 'em make sure, an' laugh exultin'-like----" "back to the woods for you, perk; go ahead an' fly. don't stand there talkin' about it." "sure susie ain't got back yit, an' nobody else ain't lookin'?" "don't fret about that, perk. we're all alone out here, but there's no tellin' how long we'll be by ourselves if you lose much more time." there was a very peculiar situation in the mcready back yard. a stout pole, some thirty feet high, stood firmly planted in the ground. half way up the pole a platform had been constructed, and on this platform stood an old, one-legged gentleman surrounded by a lot of canvas wings. there was a canvas tail behind to be depressed or lifted, according as the old gentleman wanted to fly up or down; and there was a propeller just in front of the tail, which was to be worked by foot-power and keep the machine going. the aeroplane had been hoisted to its elevated position by means of a stout rope passing through a pulley at the top of the pole. the one-legged man was welcome perkins, and the red-headed boy on the ground was chub mcready--who was something of an inventor himself, although this flying machine had been designed wholly by welcome. slowly welcome untied the rope from the flying machine, and chub pulled it through the pulley and then coiled it up on the ground at the foot of the pole. thereupon welcome pushed into the manhole of the flying machine and began hoisting himself up and down, preparatory to springing off. he stopped suddenly, however, and pulled out of the machine to look down at chub. "i reckon, chub," he observed, as by an afterthought, "i'll fly around the dome o' the capitol half a dozen times an' then light on the weather-vane so'st the governor kin have a chanst to look out o' the cupola winder an' thank me fer this boon to the human race. mebby i'll perch on top o' the court-house, too, fer a spell, an' take a leetle fly out by the injun school. if i don't git back airly, don't be in a takin' about me, er----" "oh, shucks!" roared chub. "if you're afraid to start, perk, come down an' let me try it." "afraid!" snorted welcome. "you know blame' well i ain't afraid o' nothin' on the airth 'r over it. i wisht you'd stuck the 'merican flag on the machine, some'rs, but i won't stop fer that now. so-long, chub, i'm goin' to take wing. git out yer spy-glass if ye want ter watch me." while chub held his breath, old welcome made a few more up and down movements and then leaped from the platform. but something must have been wrong. it couldn't have been the machine, of course, for chub had o. k.'d the plans, so it must have been in the way welcome manipulated the tail or the wings. twenty feet from the foot of the pole flowed the town canal. by actual measurement, welcome flew twenty-five feet; then the canvas fabric turned itself inside out, and, with a wild yell, the old man dropped into the water. there was a tremendous splash, and a small-sized geyser shot upward. loud shouts came from around the corner of the house, and matt king and tom clipperton rushed into sight and darted for the canal to give welcome a helping hand. matt grabbed up the rope at the foot of the pole as he ran past. "great scott!" cried chub, joining in the race for the canal, "where'd you fellers come from?" "rode up on our motor-cycles," replied matt, "and hung around the corner to see the show. foolish business, chub. welcome might have broken his neck--or that other leg." "it was his own notion, that machine. i was sure it would fly, but i headed him for the canal, so if anything went wrong he'd have a soft place to drop." by that time the boys were at the canal, and matt threw the rope. welcome, sputtering and floundering, was tangled in the wreckage. he had sense enough left to catch the rope, and matt dragged him out of the torn canvas, and all three of the boys lifted him up on the bank. "that's the last time," fumed welcome, dancing around and holding his head on one side to get the water out of his ear, "the very last time, chub mcready, i'm goin' to try any more o' your fool contraptions. i might a' been kilt! 'tain't your fault i wasn't." "it wasn't my contraption, perk," answered chub, smothering a laugh, now that he was certain welcome hadn't suffered any particular damage. "it was yours." "dad-bing!" yelled welcome, more worked up over the fun the boys were getting out of the situation than he was over the accident itself. "ye goaded me on, ye know ye did! i ain't a-goin' to stand no more. lawlessness is b'ilin' around inside o' me, an' i'm goin' to git right out! instid o' helpin' progress, like i was intendin', i'm goin' to cut loose, out there in the hills, an' give it a back-set. you hear me? wow! laff! laff all ye want! when they git out the u. s. army to chase me, an' run me down, i reckon ye'll laugh on t'other side yer face. an' it was you done it, chub mcready! that's somethin' fer you to think about!" the old man whirled and galloped for the house, growling to himself, jabbing his wooden pin viciously into the ground with every step, and leaving a watery trail as he went. chub keeled over on the ground, kicked his feet in the air, and roared. "it's a cinch," he guffawed, "that that's the last flyin' machine perk'll try to invent. we thought we was havin' this experiment entirely private, an' i guess perk thought i'd given you fellers the tip, so you could be hangin' around. that didn't help his temper any." "we got here just before welcome jumped off," said matt. "i couldn't figure out what he was trying to do, at first, or i'd have rushed out and tried to stop him." "you couldn't have stopped him!" snickered chub. "the old boy had the bit in his teeth." "ducking was all right," grinned clip. "may have been a good thing. cooled his spirit, anyhow." "punk! his pesky spirit will break out somewhere else, you see. perk is a human volcano, an' he's got to have an eruption just about so often or he can't be happy. but why are you fellers showin' up here so early in the morning?" "clip and i are going to denver on our motor-cycles," answered matt. "we just came around to say good-by." chub's face fell. "on the level?" he asked. "hang it all, matt it can't be you're goin' to-day?" "we are, if nothing bobs up to keep us back. i've been trying to start for two or three weeks, but at the last moment i generally run into something that interferes with my plans. clip has bought penny's motor-cycle, we've laid out our route, and we want to get away early this afternoon." "say," exploded chub, "if i had a motor-cycle i'm hanged if i wouldn't go with you." "i've got a picture of you leaving phoenix now," returned matt, "while your father is getting to work developing his mine. you'll have to help him, chub. where's susie? i want to say good-by to her before i----" matt broke off his words. fate had already interfered two or three times with his start for denver, and just then fate was getting ready to repeat the old performance. a far-away rattle, growing steadily in volume, broke on the ears of the boys. whirling around, they stared across the canal and toward the road on the other side of the bridge. what they saw sent the blood racing through their veins. four scrubby cayuses, hitched to a wood-hauler's wagon, were running away. the wagon was nothing more than two pairs of wheels connected by a "reach." as the vehicle leaped and swayed from one side of the road to the other, the startled eyes of the boys made out a small figure clinging to the "reach" for dear life. "there's a girl on that wagon!" cried chub breathlessly. the girl could not have been more than five or six years old, and her dangerous situation appealed to matt and aroused a swift determination to save her if it could possibly be done. without a word, he picked up the rope with which he had dragged welcome out of the canal and darted for the gate in front of the house. as he ran, his fingers were busy knotting a noose in the rope's end. chapter ii. a queer situation. motor matt was never long about making up his mind as to what he was going to do. in the present instance an expedient flashed through his brain which might, or might not, succeed. the rope which had been used to hoist the aeroplane to the staging on the pole was a long one. as matt ran through the gate, he flung the noose which he had tied in the rope over a hitching-post, and then leaped across the road. by that time the four horses had crossed the bridge and were thundering on toward the front of the house. matt, holding the rope firmly, stretched it so as to bring it across directly in front of the leaders. clipperton, instantly divining matt's plan, started toward him, with the intention of helping him hang onto the end of the rope. but matt had other plans for him and chub. "keep back, clip!" he yelled. "when i make 'em slow down, you and chub grab the bits." just then the front wheels of the wagon separated from those in the rear. the "reach" went on with the forward axle, and the back wheels spun around, dashed across the road, and smashed into the fence. the end of the "reach" had struck the ground with terrific force, and the girl was dragged along with it. why didn't she let go? was the thought that plunged through matt's mind. the next moment he had no time to think or to do anything else but give his attention to the work in hand. there was a shock like an earthquake as the front horses of the team hit the rope. matt, clinging like grim death to the stout hemp, was jerked into the air and hurled forward and inward. the pace of the leaders was checked, and the wheel-horses tried to play leap-frog with them, the result being that the whole team became entangled in the harness. clip and chub, throwing themselves at the heads of the leaders, grabbed the bits. before the rope was pulled from matt's hands, the horses were at a standstill. as soon as clip and chub had the team in hand, matt ran to the girl. she was lying on the ground close to the end of the "reach" and an exclamation escaped matt's lips when he saw that she was tied to the piece of timber that had connected the front wheels with those behind. "is she hurt?" called clip. "she must be," answered matt. "i don't see how she could go through what she has without being hurt--and badly hurt at that. she's unconscious. some one tied her to the wagon." he went down on his knees, and, with his pocket-knife, severed the rope that secured the girl to the "reach." he was about to pick her up in his arms when a panting voice called out to him: "leaf her alone! i will be taking care of her." matt straightened on his knees and looked at the speaker. the man was a mexican, and had a surly, ill-omened face. he was covered with dust, and had evidently been racing after the team on foot. behind him another mexican was coming. the little girl was american--matt could tell that by her looks. that being the case, why was she with the two mexicans? and why had she been tied to the wagon? "does the team belong to you?" demanded matt. "yas, he b'long to me. i left him by de store, an' he git scare' an' make a run off. _carramba_! he bust my wagon all up. i take care of de girl, señor. she hurt, huh?" the other mexican, scarcely giving a look at the girl, passed on to the horses and began to pound them with a stick that he was carrying. his attack was so brutal that clip grabbed the stick out of his hand, and would have laid it over his back if chub had not interfered. "cut it out, clip," said chub. "the greaser don't know any better. about half o' these wood-haulers ain't any more'n half-baked." "he'll have the team running again," scowled clipperton. "he ought to have some sense pounded into him." meanwhile, matt, paying no heed to the other mexican, had picked up the little girl and was carrying her toward the gate. the mexican ran after him and grabbed his arm. "you gif her to me!" he shouted. "this is the most ungrateful outfit of greasers i ever met up with," cried clip, hurrying toward the second man. "that'll do for you!" he said angrily, catching the fellow by the collar and throwing him back. the mexican whirled, his little eyes glittering like a snake's. one hand darted toward the breast of his coat. "look out clip!" warned chub. "he's going to pull a knife on you." clip still had the club he had taken from the mexican's companion, and he squared away threateningly. there was a scar in the shape of a cross on the man's swarthy cheek, and it glowed redly with the anger that filled him. before the clash could proceed any farther, a man came galloping up on horseback. the boys recognized him at once as mr. mckibben, the sheriff. the mexicans also seemed to recognize him, for the one by the horses slunk in between the animals' heads, and the other at once lost his truculent manner. "what's going on here?" demanded mckibben, peering sharply at the mexican, and then swerving his gaze to matt and the unconscious form in his arms. "the team ran away, mr. mckibben," explained matt, "and this girl was tied to the 'reach.' it looks as though she was badly hurt. i want to carry her into the house and this fellow was trying to take her away from me." "h'm!" muttered the sheriff, getting down from his horse, "it's a cinch the girl don't belong to them." he stepped closer to the mexican, his eyes on the scar. "where'd you get the girl?" he demanded, one hand groping in his pocket. "the _niño_?" returned the mexican shiftily. "she b'long to a friend of mine, señor. i take her to him. i no like to leave her here." the sheriff's hand came out of his pocket with a rush, bringing a pair of handcuffs along with it. in less time than it takes to tell it, one of the cuffs was about the mexican's right wrist, while the other was snapped about mckibben's left. the mexican gave a backward jump, but the sheriff, with a pull of the arm, drew him back with a jerk that almost lifted him off his feet. once more the mexican's hand was plunged into the breast of his coat. it was the left hand this time, however, and he was awkward in using it. mckibben's fingers gripped the wrist of the hand as it was withdrawn and shook a knife out of it. "none of that, juan morisco!" growled mckibben. "you see, i know you. i've had you watched ever since you reached town, so you'll just walk along with me and not make any trouble about it." there was a rattle of hoofs up the road. "the other one's making a getaway, mr. mckibben," sang out chub excitedly. "he took one of the horses and---holy smoke, watch him go!" the sheriff turned and flashed a look after the retreating horseman. "i can follow him," said clip. "i'll use your horse." "let him go," answered mckibben. "he's only the wood-hauler. this is the man i want. take the girl into the house, king," he added. "you might ride my horse to the corral, clipperton, and get a doctor." "do you know anything about this girl?" asked matt, looking down at the head that was lying limply over his arm. "not a thing; but i'll bet money there's crooked work of some kind going on. the girl didn't belong with these mexicans." "if they hadn't tied her to the wagon," said matt, "she would have got clear of that accident without being so badly hurt." "we'll get juan in the sweat-box and find out about it." "what have you pinched the greaser for, mr. mckibben?" asked chub. "don't get so curious, mcready," parried the sheriff. "hitch those three horses to the fence, and i'll send some one after them and the wreck of the wagon. do what you can for the girl, king." clip got on the sheriff's animal and started for the bridge; chub went to the horses which, by that time, had quieted down, and started toward the fence with them; mckibben took his prisoner toward town; and matt pushed on through the gate and into the house. this was a mysterious affair from start to finish, and he was wondering what would come of it. chapter iii. "rags." susie mcready, who had been visiting with a friend over in town, came home a little while after matt had laid the girl down on a couch. chub entered the house with his sister, and was excitedly telling her what had happened. susie went at once to the girl and began doing what she could for her. "it's too bad," murmured susie sympathetically, as she passed a wet cloth back and forth over the girl's face. "poor little thing! she hardly seems to have any breath left in her." "an' she don't seem to be hurt anywhere," said chub, standing close to the couch with matt, "that's the queerest part of it." "she may be hurt internally," spoke up matt, feeling a pang of pity as he looked at the pale little face. the girl's clothing was so ragged it was a wonder that it held together. her shoes were broken and scuffed out, and there were holes in her stockings. the cold water revived her, and when her big eyes flickered open, they passed in a troubled daze from susie to chub, and then to matt. when they rested on matt, a faint smile came to her lips. "yous is de one dat was runnin' acrost de road wid a rope," said she. "dat was bully, w'at yous done. put 'er dere, cull," and she lifted herself on one elbow and reached out her hand. "you're feeling a whole lot better, eh?" asked matt, taking the dirty little paw. "well, mebby," was the hesitating answer, "only i can't move me pins. what's de matter wid 'em?" she looked down at her feet as matt released her hand. susie cast a frightened glance at matt. "are you trying to move your feet?" matt asked, hiding as best he could the sudden consternation that swept through him. "sure i'm tryin'. funny, ain't it? dey feel like dey wasn't mine." "well, don't fret about it," said matt softly. "when the doctor comes he'll fix you up all right. what's your name?" "rags," was the answer. "you've got another name besides that, haven't you?" "sure; but yous don't hear me sayin' it, i guess." her face hardened a little as she added: "yous has done a lot fer me"--here she fixed her large eyes steadily on matt--"an' i'd do a lot fer yous, on'y don't ask me name or anyt'ing about meself; see? dat goes. come around here an' grab holt o' me mitt. dere ain't nobody treated me white fer quite a spell. de rest is all right, but yous is de one dat's made a hit wid rags." susie drew back a little and chub pushed up a chair. matt humored the child and sat down beside her. "w'at d'yous call yerself?" she asked, snuggling matt's hand against her cheek. "matt," he answered. "gee, but yous is fine! say, ain't yous de motor matt de push has been talkin' about?" "they call me that sometimes." she laughed, and her eyes danced as they looked into his. "ain't it great t' have a feller like yous stop a runaway team an' pull yous out o' de smash! why, yous saved me jest like yous did dirk hawley's goil, only she was ridin' a horse while i was hangin' to a busted wagon." "who were those men with you, rags?" queried matt. "cut it out, matt. dat's somet'ing i can't tell yous." "have you lived long in phoenix? "dere yous go ag'in! say, i hope dem pins git so's i kin use 'em before long. i ain't got no money an' i can't be spongin' on folks dat mebby don't want me around." "you can stay right here, rags, as long as you want to," put in susie, "and it won't cost you a cent." "not a red!" added chub heartily. "dat's mighty kind," answered rags, "but i got t' fly my kite jest as soon's i kin git on me uppers." "is juan morisco a friend of yours, rags?" asked matt, still trying to get some information from the girl. "what's dat?" demanded rags, starting up and looking hard at matt. "how'd yous know w'at his name was?" "the sheriff arrested him----" "jugged! are yous givin' it to me straight?" "yes." rags lay back and closed her eyes in a tired way. "well," she muttered, "dey won't git nuttin' out o' me." the doctor came, just then, and for several minutes he gave his undivided attention to rags. when he had got through, and had left some medicine, he beckoned matt to follow him out on the porch. the moment they were clear of the house the doctor's face became very grave. "not much hope for her," said he. "what!" exclaimed matt, taken aback. "do you mean she can't get well?" "chances don't favor it. there's an injury to her spine and she's paralyzed from the hips down. what do you know about her, king?" "not a thing, doctor, and she won't say a word about herself. but maybe the man the sheriff arrested can be made to tell something." the doctor, apparently, had been told all about the runaway and the arrest of the mexican, by clip. "there's something here that's mighty mysterious," said he, shaking his head. "this juan morisco must be a hard citizen or mckibben wouldn't have nabbed him. and what was the girl doing with morisco, tied to the wagon like she was? got to make her talk, king. you seem to have more influence over her than any one else. she's too young to have much strength of will, and i think she'll tell you everything if you keep trying to make her." "that's where you're wrong, doctor," said matt. "from what i've seen of her i'll bet she won't say a word. rags has got a reason for keeping back what she knows, and she'd let you kill her before she'd breathe a whisper." "well, i hear mckibben is giving juan morisco the third degree. if morisco can stand that, he's a better man than i think he is. one way or another, the truth about that girl is bound to come out." the doctor got into his buggy and drove off. matt stood at the gate for a few moments, looking for clip; but, as he could see nothing of him, he went back into the house. rags was asleep. susie, who sat beside the couch, looked at matt and laid a finger on her lips. matt tiptoed out through the kitchen to the back of the house. chub was sitting in a chair, tilted back against the wall. "what's old sawbones got to say, pard?" he asked. "not much hope for rags, chub," said matt gravely. "too bloomin' bad!" muttered chub, "but mebby old pills-an'-physic has made a wrong guess." "of course, there's a chance that he's off his reckoning. wish i knew why rags won't tell us anything about herself, or about those two greasers who had her tied to the wagon." "she's a nervy little piece! mebby she'll tell you, though, if you give her time. you seem to make a hit with all the girls, matt, little an' big, an' rags has taken to you like a piute squaw to a string of glass beads." "where's welcome?" asked matt. a slow grin worked its way over chub's freckled face. "he's out in his study, soothin' his turbulent soul with hair-raisin' literature." "didn't know he had a study," said matt. chub jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a neighboring barn. "it's over there," said he. "perk's got a box stall all to himself, an' his library contains everything about dick turpin that was ever written. come on over an' we'll take a look at him." matt was glad of something that would take his mind off rags for a time, and he followed chub toward the barn. approaching softly, chub placed an empty box under a square opening that ventilated one of the stalls and motioned for matt to get up beside him. some shelves had been put up along one side of the stall, and they were piled with a lot of grimy-looking books. one of the books lay open on a board placed over the manger, and welcome stood in front of it with an old butcher-knife in his hand. the old man had twisted up the ends of his mustache to make it look bristling and fierce, and he was mumbling to himself and flashing the butcher-knife around him savagely. "le'me see," the boys heard him mutter, as he bent over the book, "how does that there go? dad-bing! i wisht i had my glasses. the print's purty fine an' the light ain't none too good." then he read, tracing the words with the point of the knife. "'gallopin' dick pulled up his hoss clost by the coach an' drew a bead on the passengers with his trusty pistol. "stand!" he cried; "stand an' deliver!"'" welcome jerked himself away from the book, whirled around on his wooden pin and pointed his knife at the book-shelves. "stop where ye be!" he said fiercely. "it's eagle-eye perkins, pirate o' the plains, that's stoppin' this here stage-coach. stand an' deliver!" just then chub let off a whoop. welcome, startled by the unexpected sound, dropped the knife, jumped for the side of the stall, and tried to climb up the book-shelves. crash went the collection of literature, and welcome fell back on the floor of the stall, half-covered by a deluge of books. laughing to themselves, the boys dropped off the box and started back toward the house. "what do you think of that!" chuckled chub. "the old joke is a nice kind of reformed road-agent, ain't he? instead of tryin' to fight down his lawlessness, he's keepin' it alive with that stuff. i'll bet if sis ever finds out about his doin's there'll be a ruction, and---hello! here comes clip, an' he's tearin' along as though he was goin' over the course for a record." the boys had reached a place where they could see the road. clipperton, on foot, was racing up from the canal bridge. clip was the best "miler" anywhere in that part of the country, and he was certainly hitting nothing but the high places as he rushed for the mcready front gate. "let's hike for the road and find out what he's got on his mind," suggested matt. he and chub reached the gate just as clipperton came up with it. "get the _comet_, matt," jerked out clipperton. "you're wanted on the jump. hustle." "who wants me?" demanded matt. "the governor. it's a hurry-up call. mckibben said for you not to lose a minute." "what does the governor want me for?" as matt put the question he was running for his motor-cycle. "that's too many for me," answered clip. "all i know's what i'm telling you. something in the wind. no getaway for denver for us to-day." "where'll i find governor gaynor?" asked matt. he was pushing his machine through the gate, and clip was getting his own wheel and making ready to follow. "in his office," answered clip. "he's waiting for you there." matt got into the saddle and began pedaling. the next moment the pistons took the push and the motor began to snap. by the time he reached the bridge the cylinders were purring softly and the _comet_ was going like a limited express. chapter iv. a dangerous mission. "i don't think the boy can make it, mckibben; i don't know whether it's right to ask him to try to make it." the governor was pacing back and forth in his private office, talking with the sheriff who sat near-by. something of importance was in the wind, as could plainly be told from the faces of the two men and from the nervous actions of the governor. "there's nothing that lad can't do when he sets his mind to it," declared mckibben. "if joe dangerfield and his gang are kept from reaching mexico, it's motor matt that does it. take my word for that, governor." "do you think you can believe what juan morisco told you?" queried the governor. "i'll take my oath it was the truth." "if word reaches the dangerfield gang about what we're doing, king will never be allowed to reach his destination." "how can word reach the gang? when the boy starts he'll go like a streak of greased lightning. he'll beat the news, even if there was a leak somewhere and the information that he was acting as your courier got started toward the hills." "i sha'n't let him start until i have told him all about the danger----" mckibben laughed. "that youngster don't know what fear is, governor. he won't gigg back on the job because of any trouble that may be staring him in the face. anyhow, he's our only hope. there's not a machine in town that can cover the ground like it's got to be covered, except the _comet_; and there's no one else to use the _comet_ except motor matt." "he's slow getting here, seems to me," muttered the governor, starting for a window to look out. before he reached the window a rap fell on the door. in answer to his call, the governor's secretary entered. "here's young king, sir," announced the secretary. "have him come right in," said the governor, a look of relief crossing his face. the secretary withdrew, and the next moment matt entered and stood before the two men, cap in hand. "you sent for me, sir?" he asked. this was not the first time governor gaynor had seen motor matt, but never before had he marked the sturdy bearing and resourceful air of the lad as he did then. somehow, his feeling of relief increased, and he sat down in the big chair before his desk. "yes, king," said he; "i sent for you. how would you like to do a little brisk, and perhaps exciting, work for uncle sam and the territory of arizona?" "i'll be glad to do anything i can," answered matt, not a little curious because of the governor's words and manner. "there may be danger in it, king," went on the governor, eying the lad's face keenly, "a great deal of danger." "that ought to keep me gingered up," smiled matt easily. mckibben chuckled and swerved his eyes to the governor. "there'll also be one hundred dollars in it for you." "that's all right, too, sir," said matt. "i could use the hundred." "briefly, then," proceeded the governor briskly, "the work is this: a man named joe dangerfield, with several other ruffians, is camped at tinaja wells, near painted rocks. they're a lawless set, those fellows, and have been engaged in smuggling chinamen into the united states by way of mexico and the arizona border. the federal government has offered a reward of one thousand dollars each for the capture of dangerfield or any of his gang. "jasper burke, the sheriff from prescott, is camped with a posse at potter's gap, just over the divide, at the head of castle creek cañon. dangerfield and his gang are known to be making for the mexican border, to get away from the authorities and so effect their escape. the trail south from tinaja wells passes through potter's gap, and burke and his posse are waiting there to catch the dangerfield outfit as it comes along. "it appears now, however, that dangerfield has got wind of the sheriff's move, and that he is going to leave tinaja wells some time to-night and start south by another route. now, potter's gap is a hundred miles from phoenix, and unless i can find a courier who will get a letter into burke's hands by five o'clock this afternoon, the dangerfield gang will escape into mexico." the governor's eyes sought a clock on the wall. "it lacks fifteen minutes of noon," said he. "if you can get started by twelve o'clock, you will have just five hours to make a 'century' run--and a rough run it will be for a part of the way. can you make it?" a large map of arizona hung near the clock. matt stepped toward it. "can you show me, mr. mckibben," he asked, "how i'll have to go to reach potter's gap?" "sure, matt," answered the sheriff, getting out of his chair and drawing his finger over the map as he talked. "this here's the black cañon road out of phoenix--you know that pretty well by this time, i reckon. the road forks this side of the bluebell mine, and you take the fork. that leads you to frog tanks and castle creek cañon. you go up the cañon to a point five miles north of hot springs; there you'll find a trail leading up the right-hand wall of the cañon and over the divide to potter's gap. the hard part of your trip will come getting over the divide." "any place on the trail where i can get gasoline?" asked matt. "the _comet's_ tank will only hold enough for about seventy-five miles. if i can't get any on the way, i'll have to take some with me. won't have to bother with oil. the oil-tank holds a quart, and that will keep me going for two hundred miles." "better take some gasoline along and make sure," said mckibben. "you might be able to get some at hot springs, or at frog tanks; but there's a doubt, and you can't be in doubt of anything on this trip." "very well, sir." "think you can find your way all right?" "it looks easy on the map, but i might take clipperton along. he knows the country like a book, and he's got a motor-cycle of his own now. his machine is a one-cylinder, and not as fast as the _comet_, but if i see clip can't keep the pace, i can leave him behind." "it's all right to take one of your chums with you, king," put in the governor; "in fact, it may be a mighty good thing for you to have some one else along. if dangerfield and his men are captured, it means that they will spend a good long time in the penitentiary; and if they find out you are carrying word to burke that will keep them from reaching mexico, they'll do everything in their power to stop you." "how'll they find out, sir? i'll keep ahead of the news all the way." "that's what i'm hoping you'll do; but this dangerfield gang is well organized, and the fact that they've discovered burke and his posse are laying for them at potter's gap proves they're keeping track of things." the governor whirled around to his desk and picked up an envelope. "i'll not keep you any longer," said he, "for you have little enough time for your 'century' run as it is. here are the instructions which you are to deliver to burke. put the letter away safely." matt opened his leather jacket and tucked the letter into the inside pocket. "did you find out all this from juan morisco, mr. mckibben?" he asked. the sheriff nodded. "that scar on juan's face gave him away," said he. "how's the girl?" the sheriff's eyes widened when he heard the report. "she won't say a word about herself, or about juan morisco," went on matt. "can't blame her for that," said the sheriff. it was plain that morisco had told the sheriff something about rags, and matt would have liked to hear what it was. time was pressing just then, however, and he had no wish to talk any longer. as he was about to leave the room, the governor caught his hand, shook it heartily, and wished him luck. "i have confidence in your ability to take care of yourself, king," said he; "if i hadn't, i shouldn't allow you to make this venture under any consideration. keep a sharp look-out for trouble, that's all, and put the _comet_ through for all she's worth." "i'll get your letter into burke's hands, governor gaynor," declared matt, "by five o'clock. good-by, sir." as he left the office the clock was striking twelve. "he'll do it, too," declared mckibben. a few moments after the door closed behind matt, the secretary presented himself. he wore a troubled air. "what's the matter, jenkins?" queried the governor. "perhaps nothing, sir," answered jenkins; "but when young king came in to see you, there was a rough-looking man loafing around the hall. after i had sent king into your office, i saw the man through the window. he was hurrying down the walk in front, and i watched until he got into a motor-car--a high-powered roadster. there was another man in the car, and i'm sure they exceeded the speed-limit as they broke away from the curb." the governor, with a trace of consternation, turned on the sheriff. "what do you think of that, mckibben?" he asked. mckibben laughed easily. "you're letting this dangerfield business get on your nerves, governor," said he. "what could that chap who was loafing in the hall discover just by seeing king come in here?" "he might have been friendly toward the dangerfield gang, and he may have made a guess as to why king had come here----" "nothing to it, governor, take it from me. motor matt will pull down that hundred just too easy for any use. a dollar a mile for that 'century' run looks pretty good to him, i'll bet. don't lose any sleep about _him_. he'll be back here some time to-morrow, chipper as usual and a hundred to the good. he's the bank that gets my gilt, no discount on that." chapter v. the red roadster. as matt hurried out of the capitol building he found clip at the curb, waiting for him. clip's motor-cycle was leaning against a hitching post, and there was an ominous look on clip's swarthy face--a look that somehow reminded one of his grim indian ancestors, for clip was proud of the fact that one of his grandparents had been a full-blood native of the soil. "what's on?" he asked, as matt rolled the _comet_ off the walk and into the street. "i've got to do a hard 'century' in five hours," answered matt, "and you're to go with me as long as you can keep up." a gleam of satisfaction darted through clip's eyes. "i was looking for your machine," said he. "where'd you leave it, matt?" "left it at the steps, in charge of the janitor. didn't intend to give any one a chance to tamper with it. how's your gasoline-tank, clip?" "full." "plenty of oil?" clip nodded. "same here," went on matt. "we've got to carry two quarts more of gasoline with us, and we'll pick it up at brigham's." brigham's was a general store in the "five points," and on the boys' direct course to the black cañon road. the machines were soon hustling through washington street as fast as the speed regulations would allow. "going up castle creek cañon?" asked clip, while he and matt were gliding along side by side. "how'd you know that, clip?" returned matt. "then it's true," muttered clip darkly. "by thunder!" the quarter-blood's manner was full of mysterious foreboding. "what's true?" came from matt sharply. "a red automobile stood in front of the capitol. was there when i came up. a rough-looking fellow was in the driver's seat. another tough-looking man ran out of the building and jumped into the red car. 'motor matt's carrying a message,' i heard the second man say to the driver. 'castle creek cañon, jem, on the high speed.' trouble ahead, matt," clip added. matt was astounded. "was that all you heard, clip?" he asked. "that was all." "ever see the two men before?" "no." "what kind of a car was it?" "roadster. looked like it could go." matt puzzled over this disquieting information all the way to brigham's. they were held up about five minutes at the general store, buying a couple of two-quart canteens and having them filled with gasoline. when they left the five points and shot along grand avenue, each had a receptacle securely lashed to the head of his machine. thirty miles an hour was about the limit of clip's motor-cycle. clip had recently bought the machine of ed penny, and had equipped it with new tires, so that it was in a perfectly serviceable condition. twenty miles an hour for five hours would turn the trick. but that was too close figuring. the boys were a quarter of an hour late getting away. this time would have to be made up, and, besides that, matt wanted to gain on the schedule so as to have a little leeway for possible accidents. "how's the going between the arizona canal and castle creek cañon, clip?" queried matt, as they whirled into the black cañon road. "fine to frog tanks," answered clip. "from there to the cañon not so good. in the cañon it's mighty poor." "then we'll have to make all the time we can at this end of the route. open 'er up, clip!" both boys opened the throttles and let the reserve power shoot through the machinery. the needle of matt's speedometer indicated thirty-two miles an hour. "great!" cried matt, after giving clip the figures. "that little one-cylinder is just naturally humping herself, clip. we've got five hours for the trip, but at this pace we could almost do it in three." "hard trail in the cañon, matt. there'll be plenty of lost time there. what's the game, anyway?" matt explained as they dashed along. the excitement of the work ahead brought a glow to clip's eyes. "fine!" he exclaimed. "motor matt, the governor's courier! you'll get through on time even if i can't." "whether you're in at the finish or not, clip, we split that hundred dollars right in two in the middle. if we ever get started for denver, old chap, the money will help." "but that red roadster!" scowled clip. "how did those roughs get next to this work of yours?" "that's too many for me," answered matt. "they must have suspected something. they were there, in front of the capitol, waiting. mighty queer!" matt's lips compressed into a thin line and his eyes flashed. "we'll have to keep a keen look-out for trouble," said he, "and dodge it, if any comes our way." a few minutes later they were crossing the bridge over the arizona canal. matt pulled out his old silver watch. "only sixteen minutes to one," he announced, with a note of exultation, "and we're fifteen miles on our way." "thirty miles to frog tanks and twenty to the next water," said clip. "we ought to have brought a water-canteen, too. the heat is something fierce." "we'll drink at the well, clip, and pick up something to eat at the same place. we ought to be there in forty minutes, at the outside." after they left the black cañon road, just beyond the bridge, matt was in a country entirely new to him. the road was a bit cut up and sandy in places, but clip whaled his machine along and they did a trifle better than thirty miles. two or three roads entered the one they were following, and they were all as well traveled. here matt's wisdom in bringing clip along, even at the loss of some speed on the _comet's_ part, was made manifest. but for clip, matt might have gone astray on the wrong trail. the boys were now in the region of big sahuara cacti, and the great trunks flashed past them as telephone-poles recede behind a rushing train. in the dusty places of the road the broad tracks left by the tires of an automobile could be plainly seen. the red roadster was ahead of them. matt studied the skyline in advance, wondering how far away the two ruffians were and what their designs could be. he saw nothing of the red car, and presently the square walls and flat roof of an adobe house broke on his vision. behind the house was a primitive stable, thatched with grass, and a small corral constructed of ocotilla poles braided together with wire. between the house and stable was an iron pump and a watering-trough. "that's the ranch where we get our water," remarked clip. "two bits apiece for a drink. there's gregory, the rancher, out in front." gregory, the rancher, got up in surprise as the boys came to a stop at the pump. he stared at the machines. "waal, i'll be hanged!" he muttered. "they've got them hossless wagons on four wheels an' two wheels. reckon they'll be havin' 'em on one wheel next. dry? help yerself. two bits apiece fer all ye kin swaller. water costs money in the desert." leaning their machines against the water-trough, the boys began working the pump. "did you see a horseless wagon on four wheels go past here, mr. gregory?" asked matt. "sure. two fellers was on the seat. they stopped fer water an' then hiked right on, jest as though they was in a hurry ter git some'r's. friends o' your'n?" "no, we don't know them," answered matt. "how long since they passed?" "less'n five minutes." "got anything to eat in your place?" went on matt. "we can't stop more than a minute or two." "sho!" exclaimed the man. "ever'body 'pears ter be in a hurry this arternoon. i got jerked beef, crackers, an' all kinds o' canned goods, say nothin' erbout----" "'jerked' and crackers'll do," interrupted clip. "we'll go in, gregory. get us a hand-out we can tote in our pockets." "sartain," answered gregory. the boys were not in the adobe house to exceed five minutes, and they wouldn't have been there to exceed three if gregory had been a little more spry in his movements. stuffing their crackers and dried beef into their pockets, they ran out of the house and to their machines. scarcely taking time to look the motor-cycles over, they pulled them upright and got into the saddles. matt pedaled away, twisting on the gasoline and the spark. but the motor did not work--he was still pushing the machine ahead with the pedals. he halted to investigate and find out what was wrong, and at that moment a startled cry came from clip. matt looked around. clip was having the same trouble getting his motor-cycle started. but clip had made another discovery which sent a shock of consternation through both him and matt. "our gasoline-cans!" cried clip. "where are they?" then, for the first time, matt saw that his reserve supply of gasoline had been removed from the head of the _comet_. clip's can had disappeared in the same mysterious manner. with a sudden, paralyzing thought, matt examined the tank back of his saddle. _the tank was empty!_ doubling up his fists, clip jumped for gregory. the latter sprang back and stared at clip in astonishment. "you know who did it!" shouted clip menacingly. "the men on that red roadster hired you to stop us! you had some one hiding here. while we were in the house the gasoline was taken away. we'll give you a minute to get it back. sixty seconds, gregory!" the rancher continued to stare. "i don't know nothin' about what you're gittin' at," he muttered blankly. "i ain't makin' trouble fer no one, an' them other fellers didn't hire me ter do a thing. keep away, i tell ye! thar's two o' you, but i'll give ye a hot time if ye git too hostile!" gregory picked up an ax as he stepped back, and then stood confronting the boys threateningly. chapter vi. surmounting the difficulty. while this clash was going forward between the rancher and clip, matt's mind had been busy. the result of his thinking forced the conclusion that gregory was innocent of any underhand work. first, the rancher seemed to be alone at the ranch. if that was really the case, then there had been no one belonging to the place to interfere with the machines. furthermore, some knowledge of the mechanism of the motor-cycles had been necessary in order to strip the machines of their gasoline in the short space of time in which the work had been done. it was not to be supposed that any confederate of gregory's could have had this knowledge. "hold up, clip," said matt, dropping a hand on his chum's arm. "you're on the wrong track. i'm sure gregory didn't do this, or have any one do it." "there wasn't any one else," flared clip. "if gregory didn't do it, he knows who did." "the red roadster may have stopped farther along the trail, and one of the men may have come back. have you got any gasoline, gregory?" inquired matt. "nary, i ain't," answered the rancher. "that's what them other two fellers wanted ter know." clip cast a quick look at matt. "mebby they're running short themselves," said clip. "they found gregory didn't have any. then they made a dead set at ours." "or," went on matt, "those fellows may have asked gregory just to make sure we couldn't get a fresh supply from him when they had taken what we had. we'll go on for a while and use the pedals." "we've lost out," cried clip angrily. "just at the start, too. nice thing for you to tell the governor." matt looked gloomily at his watch, then started off with all the speed he could throw into the pedals. but the weight of the machinery, now suddenly useless, pulled him back. his hopes were down, way down. his mysterious enemies had scored a telling stroke at the very start-off. "what time is it, matt?" asked clip, in a discouraged tone, toiling along beside his chum. "twenty-five minutes of two," was the answer. "we've got three hours and twenty-five minutes to go sixty-five miles!" clip laughed gruesomely. "we couldn't do it in two days, at this rate." while the boys were talking they came to a long slope that ran downward through a thick chaparral of greasewood, palo-verde, and ironwood. the road twisted serpentlike to avoid rough ground. from somewhere in the thicket below a muffled _thump_, _thump_, _thump_ came up to them, as though some one was wielding an ax. "what's that?" queried matt, looking at clip. "mexican wood-cutters, i reckon," was the response. the boys went on down the slope, coasting at a rapid gait. half-way down the descent, a turn brought them into the proximity of an automobile, and so suddenly that they had to clap on the brakes in order to avoid a collision. the car was a red roadster. it was at a standstill in the middle of the trail, and neither of the two men was near it. astounded at this stroke of luck, matt and clip, for a moment, could do no more than stare at each other. the blows of the ax, off in the chaparral, were louder in their ears now, and they could hear a mumble of voices. "wow!" gasped clip. "am i dreaming? can i believe what i see? say, matt, this is too blamed good to be true!" matt, getting quick control of his wits, had been running his eyes over the roadster. one of the rear tires was flat. on the ground near the flattened tire lay a new one, just taken out of the brackets that had supported it. "well, well, this _is_ luck!" breathed matt, getting off his machine and hurrying to the automobile. "a tire blew up on them. they haven't a jack along, and they've gone into the brush to cut a couple of pieces of ironwood, in order to lift the axle and get on a new tire." "they may be back----" "sure, and we've got to hustle." matt was already on the running-board. "here are our canteens," he went on excitedly, picking both of the gasoline-cans out of the rumble. "and they're full, too," he added. "take one, clip, and empty it into your gasoline-tank." it was a time for action rather than words. the chopping had ceased in the chaparral, but the talking was still going on, and, from the sound of it, the two men were not as yet coming any nearer. "we're using up our reserve supply," said clip, while they were emptying the canteens into the tanks. "we'll fill the canteens again out of the car-tank," returned matt, "if we have time." "bully!" chuckled clip. "then let the rest of the gasoline out into the road. give 'em a dose of their own medicine. it'll serve 'em right." clip was a lad of quick temper. the indian blood in his veins undoubtedly lay at the root of this, but the resentment he felt at being looked down upon by some of the phoenix boys who regarded the mixed blood as a taint had had a good deal to do with it. had matt not interfered at the well, clip would certainly have set upon gregory, for rarely did clip's temper allow him time to reason a matter out. this reprisal against the two men who had the roadster, however, had already taken form in matt's mind before clip had suggested it. by stranding the car in the desert, thirty-five miles from a gasoline-filling station, matt could clip the claws of his enemies and render them harmless. the moment the _comet's_ tank had been filled and capped, matt carried the canteen to the motor-car and proceeded to replenish it out of the supply belonging to his two enemies. then, while he was filling clip's canteen, clip was busy making matt's fast to the head of the _comet_. both boys were so hard at work that they did not notice the sound of voices had died out in the chaparral. as matt stepped back from the motor-car and finished screwing the cap on the canteen, a man jumped out into the road. the man was carrying a six-foot length of ironwood. with a yell of anger, he hurled the heavy stick straight at matt. matt dodged, and the timber just grazed his head. "jem!" whooped the man; "this way--on the jump!" running around the front of the automobile, matt made a rush for his machine, at the same time yelling to clip to get into the saddle and make off with a rush. the man, darting around the rear of the roadster, started to plant himself in matt's way. matt feinted as though he would pass on the right side. when the man had thrown himself in that direction, matt plunged by on the left, whirling the canteen by the strap and striking his enemy a fierce crack on the side of the head. the man toppled over against the automobile. by then matt had reached the _comet_. still hanging to clip's canteen, he jerked the motor-cycle away from the bushes, got into the saddle, and started the pedals. clip had already started, but was going slow and looking back to see if his help would be needed. jem, the driver of the roadster, crashed through the bushes just as the _comet_ was getting under its own headway. he carried an ax and another piece of freshly cut ironwood. "that's king!" whooped jem's companion. "stop him! you've got to stop him!" clip flung back a taunt. matt, as the _comet_ gathered speed like a mettlesome racer, wondered how jem was going to cover the fast-widening gap and do anything to stop either of the motor-cycles. the next moment he understood what the last resource was the two men were going to fall back upon. there came a "pop" like an exploding fire-cracker, and a bullet whistled past matt's ear. bending lower over the handlebars, he opened the throttle with a twist of his left hand. the road was down-hill and the _comet_ was going like a thunderbolt. in about two seconds matt had caught up with clip; then, in an instant more, both boys were screened from their enemies by a turn in the road. chapter vii. smoke-signals. "thunder!" muttered clip, as the breakneck pace was slackened a little. "just made it, matt. by the skin of our teeth. and we didn't dump their gasoline into the road, either. they'll be after us just a-smoking when they get that new tire on." "we're playing in great luck, clip, to get off as well as we did," answered matt. "here, take your two quarts of gasoline." clip took the canteen and hung the strap over his handlebars. "we're ahead now, anyway," said he, with grim satisfaction. "that's a heap better than being behind." matt listened to the steady hum of the _comet's_ twin cylinders with an exultation he could not conceal. what had happened had been almost like snatching victory from certain defeat. "how much time did we lose?" asked clip. "it's two o'clock," answered matt, juggling his watch with one hand. "and we're in the lead. that makes a heap of difference. there'll be no underhand work ahead of us, after this. we'll beat the news to potter's gap." the trail slid away into the flat desert at the foot of the slope. as the boys wheeled across the sandy level, they cast a look backward at the brush-covered slope, to see if they could discover any traces of the red roadster and of their enemies. the car was not in sight, but rising straight upward in the still air was a thin column of smoke. suddenly the column was broken, and one, two, three balls of vapor floated aloft; then the straight, grayish plume was in evidence again; after a moment the smoke-balls reappeared and wound up the spectacle. "great scott!" exclaimed matt. "what sort of a performance do you call that, clip?" clipperton's face was ominous as he answered: "smoke-signals. those two back there must belong to dangerfield's gang. they were telling some of the rest of the gang that we're coming." a look of savage pride crossed clipperton's face. "you know why i know," he added. "it was born in me." motor matt had been the first true white friend clipperton had ever had. perhaps that was because he had looked for the worth and manliness in the depths of clip's nature, and had found more than any one else had ever taken the trouble to hunt for. clip's ancestry was a raw wound, principally because there were some who took malignant pride in never allowing it to heal; and yet he was defiantly proud of it. "i wish i had had a little of the same kind of knowledge born in me, clip," said matt generously, and clip threw him a grateful look, and his surliness vanished. "see there!" cried clip abruptly, pointing toward a range of dim blue hills to the north. "the signals were read. they're being answered." a long way off, but perfectly plain in the clear air, arose a column of smoke. it was broken into little clouds, just as the other had been, and when it disappeared it vanished as quickly. "how do they do it, clip?" asked matt. "a fire of green wood and a wet blanket. that's all. there's frog tanks," and clip indicated a cluster of adobe walls and thatched roofs, midway between them and the point where the answering signals had shown themselves. it was twenty minutes after two when the boys wheeled through the little mexican settlement. there was no sign of the red roadster behind them, but, for all that, they were expecting trouble on account of the smoke-signals. "two hours and five minutes on the road," cried matt, "and we're forty-five miles from phoenix. we're still ahead of the schedule, clip." "the worst part of the road's ahead," said clip briefly. "here's where we begin to strike it." just at that moment the trail dipped into a rocky ravine and climbed a steep bank on the opposite side. there was no water in the ravine, but the rocks were jagged and sharp, and they had to use much care to save their tires. with all the reserve power thrown into the machinery, the _comet_ made hard work of the hill. clip had to get off and drag his motor-cycle up by hand. for a mile beyond the ravine the trail was heavy with sand. matt began to appreciate the difficulties ahead of him and to worry a little about the outcome. clip noticed the serious look that crossed his chum's face. "don't fret," said he. "the cañon won't be as bad as this. the bed of the cañon is hard enough. what makes it a tough trail is the boulders brought down in the freshets. that automobile couldn't get up the cañon at all. you and i can go around the rocks. there's the opening into the gulch. just ahead." at the edge of the flat matt saw a high, rocky ridge. the ridge was broken by a notch, and the road crawled through the opening and into the defile. the sides of the notch were steep, and the boys rode through it in single file, matt taking the lead. when they were about half-way through, a crash broke on their ears, followed by a rumbling sound that grew swiftly in volume. a yell of warning came from clip. matt had just time to catch a glimpse of a rock rushing down the side of the notch. in a trice he speeded up the _comet_ and leaped forward toward the cañon, sand and loosened pebbles dropping all around him. from behind him came a ringing shock. with his heart in his throat he shut off the power and clamped on the brake, stopping so suddenly that he was nearly thrown over the front wheel. when he turned to look around, the rumbling had ceased. clip's machine lay on its side, with a twisted and bent rear wheel, and clip himself was just rising from the ground. "are you hurt, clip?" matt asked, bracing the _comet_ against a boulder and running back. clip was frantic with rage and disappointment. one look at his machine was enough to tell him that he was out of the race. "those smoke-signals did it!" he snorted angrily, lifting his eyes to the slope of the notch wall. "some one loosened a rock. the skulking coyote! it's a wonder we weren't killed." matt saw the stone. it was round, water-worn, and as big as a barrel. evidently it had caught clip's machine just as it was all but out of the way. the impact had whirled it around and bent and twisted the wheel. "nothing but a repair-shop can ever fix that," said matt, almost as much disappointed as his chum was. "what'll you do, clip?" clip did not answer. he had seen something up the steep slope that brought a snarl of anger to his lips and sent him clawing and scrambling up the rocks. matt ran after him. if there was to be a fight with any of the dangerfield gang, matt was determined not to let clip go into it alone. the climb was a hard one, but the hard, well-trained muscles of the two boys made record work of it. twenty feet up the wall was a shelf. clip was over the edge of the shelf first, having had the lead of matt in the start. as matt crawled over, he saw a roughly dressed man scurrying to get up the wall at the back of the shelf. clip jumped for the man, clutched his feet, and pulled him down. a torrent of imprecations, in some unknown tongue, burst from the man's lips. throwing up his hands, he caught clip about the throat, and the two rolled over and over, struggling desperately. they would have gone over the edge of the shelf and rolled and bounded down the wall, had not matt, quick to note his chum's danger, darted for the fighters to grab and hold them back. catching the man by the shoulders, matt flung him sideways, on his back. the fellow had a knife in his hand, and made a vicious stab at matt's breast. clip, by a quick movement of his lithe body, caught the man's wrist and held the weapon back. then, while all three were on their knees on the rocky shelf, a strange scene was enacted. clip and the man stared at each other with startled eyes. the fight went out of each of them in a flash. an expression of amazement crept into their faces, and along with clip's astonishment came a tinge of bitterness. "what's the matter?" queried matt, getting to his feet. neither clip nor the man spoke a word. there was a clatter as the knife dropped on the shelf. the man was tall and wiry. his face was even more swarthy than clip's, his eyes were small and piercing, his hair was straight and black, and there were rings in his ears. he wore moccasins and buckskin leggings, and a dingy-blue flannel shirt, open at the throat. both the man and clip got up slowly. "_tio! tio mio!_" said clip, in a hoarse whisper. a slow grin worked its way into the man's face. from the edge of the shelf he looked down to where the disabled motor-cycle was lying. then he said something in a language matt could not understand, and took a step toward clip, with hand outstretched. clip muttered and struck the hand aside. the man did not appear very much cast down by this lack of courtesy, but bent over coolly and picked up his knife. returning it to his belt, he folded his arms, leaned back against the wall at the other side of the shelf, and studied the two boys curiously. clip clenched his hands as some strong emotion swept through him. then abruptly he stepped toward the man and began speaking. what he said matt could not understand. the words came swiftly, fairly tripping over each other. that clipperton was upbraiding the man there was no doubt; but why he should do that, or why either of them should act in the queer manner they were doing was a puzzle. clip's fierce words seemed to make an impression on the man. the grin faded from his lips and a more serious expression took its place. as soon as he could break into the torrent of clip's talk, the man spoke. he spoke for a full minute, and matt pricked up his ears as he heard the name of dangerfield mentioned. when the man had finished, clip said something in a sharp tone and started down the slope, beckoning matt to follow. the man came to the edge of the shelf and watched them as they slipped and scrambled to the trail, but he made no move to follow. "smoke-signals," said clip, in his usual terse fashion. "they got us into this fix. and brought me a big surprise. but it may be a help to you, matt, in the long run." clip's face was moody, although his words were spirited enough. "what in the wide world is that fellow?" queried matt. "what sort of a hold have you got over him, clip?" "there's a chain of men watching castle creek cañon," said clip, not seeming to hear matt's question. "the smoke-signals are passed on. from the other side of frog tanks, they reach dangerfield, at tinaja wells. some of the gang are laying for you above here. you'll have to go on alone. think you can find the way?" "it's right up the cañon, isn't it, until i get to the trail that leads over the right-hand wall?" "yes. take the first trail that leads over the wall. you can't go wrong. while daylight lasts," and a cunning look rose in clip's eyes, "there'll be more smoke-signals coming from here. i'll be back of them. _and they'll help you through._" clip turned and led the way to the boulder where matt had left the _comet_. "you'd better hike, matt," said he. "you can't lose any more time." "but who's that ruffian, clip?" asked matt again, as he got into the saddle. "that ruffian"--there was mocking bitterness in clip's voice, as he spoke--"is my uncle. he's a half-breed. his name is pima pete. he's one of the gang. he didn't recognize me when he rolled that stone down the hill. we haven't seen each other for two years." clip whirled around, as though he would make off without another word. matt was dumfounded. he recovered himself, however, in time to call sharply: "clip!" clipperton turned and saw matt holding out his hand. "can't you say good-by, pard, and wish me luck?" asked matt. clipperton hesitated a moment, then rushed forward, caught matt's hand, and wrung it fervently. but he could not trust himself to speak. another minute and motor matt was in castle creek cañon, headed north. chapter viii. on the divide. it was five minutes to three, and there were fifty miles of cañon and up-and-down trail over the divide to be covered. this meant that motor matt must average twenty-five miles an hour for the next two hours. in favorable parts of the trail he must do better than that, to off-set losses of time where the going was most difficult. the bed of the cañon was strewn with boulders, ranging in size from a bucket to a hogshead. the road was plainly marked, but the last freshet had sprinkled it with stones, large and small. mountain-wagons, constructed for service in such sections of the country, were hauled over the smallest of the boulders, and where the largest were met, and could not be avoided by a detour, the driver of the wagon got out and rolled them away. as clip had said, however, the trail was impassable for automobiles. a high-wheel wagon could bump and jerk its way over the stones, but a low-wheel car with pneumatic tires would not have lasted half an hour in the cañon, nor have traversed a mile of it. on the other hand, the narrow tread of a motor-cycle enabled it to dodge the rocks, leaving the trail only at points where the rocks were so close together the machine could not get between them. but sharp eyes, a firm hand, and unerring judgment were needed for every foot of the way. this, of course, made anything like the best speed impossible. for several miles matt weaved his way in and out, speeding up on the comparatively clear stretches, and slowing down for places where the most obstacles were encountered. the avoiding of sharp stones and boulders at last became almost mechanical. with his gaze on the road immediately in advance, his hands instinctively turned the _comet_ right or left, as the exigencies of the case demanded. when he could spare a little of his attention from the running of the machine, his thoughts reverted to clipperton and his heart saddened with the hurt pride smoldering in clip's eyes when they had parted in the notch. clip's uncle--his mother's brother, most probably--was a half-breed and a member of dangerfield's gang. how clip's sensitive soul must have recoiled from confessing the truth to matt! and yet clip had been manly enough to face the issue, and matt liked him all the better for it. "what a fellow's people are," thought matt, "don't amount to a picayune; it's what the fellow is himself that counts. but it was tough on clip to run into a relative and find him passing smoke-signals along for that prince of rascals, dangerfield. and then, it was pretty near the last straw to have that relative roll a stone down the bank and put clip out of the running. i don't blame him for getting worked up." a study of the speedometer showed matt that he was not averaging more than twenty miles an hour. this worried him. the necessity for doing better than that was vital to the success of his mission, and yet, without great risk to his machine, he did not see how he was going to accomplish it. hoping constantly for a better piece of road, he pushed doggedly on. the walls of the cañon were wide apart and high. they formed themselves into pinnacles, and turrets, and parapets, and a fanciful mind could easily liken them to the walls of a castle. from these features of the cañon it had, no doubt, derived its name of "castle creek." a stream flowed through the defile, but a stranger would not have discovered this from a casual survey of the cañon's bed. the stream was like most water-courses in arizona, and flowed _under the sand_ and next to the bed-rock. here and there, at irregular intervals, the water appeared in pools, pushed to the surface by a lifting of the underlying rock. once matt halted to snatch a drink from one of the diminutive ponds, but in less than a minute he was astride the _comet_ again and pushing resolutely onward. here and there he passed a "flat," or level stretch of earth, brought down by the waters from above and lodged in some bend of the gulch. these flats were free from stones and covered with a scant growth of cottonwoods and piñons. some time was gained by riding across these level, unobstructed stretches. a little more than half an hour after leaving the notch, matt passed a flat that lay at the foot of a gully running into the ravine. there was an adobe house on the flat, a corral, and other evidences of a rather extensive ranch. a man was standing in front of the house as matt hurried past. he was staring at the motor-cycle like a person in a trance. "what place is this?" called matt, as he went by. "hot springs," the rancher called back. "what sort of a contraption y'u got thar, anyways?" matt told him, but probably the backwoodsman was not very much enlightened. north of hot springs the road was tolerably clear for several miles, and the _comet_ leaped along it at top speed. when near the end of the good going, the road forked, a branch entering a gap in the right-hand wall and climbing steeply toward the top. matt's heart gave a bound. "here's where i take the divide!" he muttered, swerving the _comet_ into the opening and giving it every ounce of power for the climb. "now for potter's gap and sheriff burke." up and up went the trail, twisting back and forth in long horseshoe curves. but for those curves, no wagon could ever have scaled that frightful ascent. in places the road had seemingly been blasted out of a sheer wall, and it was so narrow that a wagon would have had to rub against the cliff-face in order to keep the opposite wheels from slipping over the dizzy brink. matt's view of the cañon and of the surrounding hills opened as he ascended. he had not much time for the view, however, for when he was not peering at the trail, or catching a look at the face of his watch, he was studying the speedometer. it was after four o'clock, and he was making barely four miles an hour! higher and higher he climbed, coming steadily nearer to the top of the divide. a light breeze fanned his face, and all around him he could see mountain peaks pushing upward into the clear blue sky. only the _chug-chug_ of his laboring motor-cycle broke the stillness. probably never before, since time began, had those hills echoed with the puffing of a steel horse. at last the climbing trail dipped into a level tangent just below the top of the mountain. after a straight-away run of a hundred yards, it coiled serpentlike around the mountain's crest. on matt's left was a broken granite wall running vertically to the top of the peak; on his right was a chasm, falling hundreds of feet into a gloomy gulch. between the chasm and the wall ran the ribbon of road, eroded in places by wind and weather until it had a perceptible slant outward. a skidding of the wheels, the relaxation for an instant of a cool, steady grip on the handlebars, or a sudden attack of dizziness would have hurled the young courier into eternity. in that hazardous place speed was not to be thought of. "slow and sure" had to be matt's motto. he finished the tangent and began rounding the curve. in no place on that fearsome bend was the road visible for more than a dozen feet ahead. while he was avoiding the fissures, and carefully picking his way around the curve, a savage growl broke suddenly on his ears. with racing pulses, he lifted his eyes and saw a huge dog crouching in the path before him. the dog was a great dane, big enough and seemingly savage enough for a bear. while matt stared, and wondered how and why the dog happened to be there, a man in a blue shirt, sombrero, and with trousers tucked in his boot-tops, emerged suddenly from behind a shoulder of rock. he carried a club, and a look of intense satisfaction crossed his face as he came in sight of matt. "take him, bolivar!" yelled the man, and motor matt was brought suddenly face to face with unexpected peril. with a vicious snarl, the dog lifted his great body into the air and plunged toward the _comet_. matt had come to a quick stop, disengaging his right foot from the toe-clip and bracing the motor-cycle upright. he had time for no more than to throw his left arm over his face, when the dog struck him. the impact of the brute's body was terrific. matt went down, with the motor-cycle on top of him, head and shoulders over the brink of the precipice. chapter ix. a ruse that won. of course, the smoke-signals, passed along by dangerfield's chain of guards, were responsible for matt's predicament. the man and the dog were at that difficult place in the trail to capture the governor's courier, and just at that moment it looked as though they had succeeded. unarmed as he was, what could motor matt accomplish against the ruffian and the dog? this problem rushed through the boy's brain as he lay at the edge of the trail. the great dane, crouching close and snarling, watched him as a cat watches a mouse. matt stared into the brute's fiendish little eyes, and reason told him that the bared white fangs would instantly fasten upon his throat if he moved. he was not injured, although somewhat bruised, and his mind was as keen and alert as ever. why not, he asked himself, "play possum" with the man and the dog, and pretend to be badly hurt and unconscious? the ruse might not help him any, but there was a chance that it would. closing his eyes until he could just see through them and keep track of what was going on, he held his breath, lay silent, and watched. the man drew close, leaned on his club, and stood looking down. "hello, thar, young feller!" he called. matt did not answer. "hello, i say!" repeated the man, nudging matt with the end of the club. "i reckon you're the one bolivar an' me's been waitin' here fer, an'--what's the matter with ye, anyhow?" still no answer from matt. "must hev hit his head a crack when he went down," muttered the man. "you're some sizeable, bolivar, an' when ye fall on anythin', ye come down like a thousand o' brick. git away from him! i reckon ye've done yore part. i'll get a rope on him now. clear out!" the dog slunk away along the road to a distance of two or three yards. then the man pulled the _comet_ away and leaned it against the rocks. "fust time i ever seen one o' them steel bronks," he remarked, talking to himself. "pussonly, i ain't got no use fer a hoss that drinks gasoline. they'd be hard ter ride, an' i don't reckon they'd be reliable." before picking up the machine, the man had dropped his club. he now laid hold of matt and drew him away from the brink of the precipice. when he finally let loose of matt, matt's hand was close to the small end of the club--one arm, in fact, was lying upon it. "if bolivar had knocked ye a couple o' feet farther, young feller," pursued the man, still talking to himself more than to matt, "ye'd hev tumbled inter the gulch, iron hoss an' all. now, we'll see what ails ye, an' then i'll make a stagger ter git ye ter tinaja wells, so dangerfield an' the rest kin size ye up an' find out what yer bizness is." bolivar, who did not seem to relish taking a back seat just as his prey had come under his paws, began growling and dragging himself forward. the man turned and, with a savage oath, ordered the animal to keep away. while his back was toward him, matt knew that then, if ever, was his time to bolt. like lightning the boy gained his feet, lifting the club with him. in two leaps he was beside the _comet_. hearing his quick movements, the man faced around with a frantic yell. "no, ye don't!" he roared, and flung at matt with his bare hands. the club whirled and matt brought it down on the man's shoulder with all his strength. it was a glancing blow, but it was enough to daze the man and send him reeling backward. matt lost not an instant in dropping the club, getting astride the _comet_, and starting. just as the motor got busy, the dog dropped beside matt, gripping his right sleeve and tearing a piece out of the stout leather. the boy reeled under the shock, but he was not again overturned. to get away from the man and the dog he must have speed, and he must set the _comet_ to going its best in spite of the perils of the trail. as he tore around the curved course, his resolute eyes following the path in front of the machine, he heard the snarling of the dog and the patter of his cushioned feet on the rocks. the loss for an instant of the control of the machine would have spelled death for motor matt. to keep the _comet_ away from the edge of the cliff, and away from the loose stones fringing the wall on the other side of the road, was the problem with which matt had to contend. it was a hair-raising problem, too, and called for every ounce of nerve and every particle of skill the boy possessed. he dared not look behind to note the situation in that quarter. the man, he knew, he could easily distance, and it was the bounding great dane he feared. his ears told him that the dog was holding his own--exerting all his power and neither gaining nor losing. but he was too close for comfort. should he snap at the rear wheel and puncture the tire--matt's thoughts could not carry the danger further. a good many things, just then, swung in the scales of chance, and what the dog might do was only one of them. a minute passed, a minute so full of peril that it seemed like an hour, and the darting _comet_ reached the other side of the peak and passed from level ground to a steep descent. below him, motor matt could see the trail, winding in steep horseshoes just as on the other side of the mountain. but there was no precipice at its edge to threaten destruction. by its own weight the machine would have coasted down the mountain at a clip never before equaled. matt diminished the power that fed the racing pistons, but still he continued to drop like a thunderbolt down the steep slope. the wind sang in his ears, and rock, bush, and stunted tree flashed by like so many missiles hurled at him by a giant hand. the speedometer could register up to sixty-five miles an hour, but the needle had gone out of business. if motor matt was not doing a good seventy an hour, on that hurricane drop toward the mountain's foot, he was far afield in his reckoning. it could hardly be called a ride. it was more like a fall through space. naturally, such a fierce gait could not last long. matt was at the base of the mountain before he fairly realised it, and the _comet_ was plunging away on a mesa toward a v-shaped cut in a ridge. he had time now for a quick look rearward. the great dane was not in sight. all motor matt had to show for the perilous encounter on the cliffside was his torn sleeve, a few bruises, and an uncomfortable remembrance. as if to make up for the worrisome struggle through the cañon and the snail's pace toward the top of the divide, matt had now a fine, hard road under him and plenty of room. how much time he had lost he did not know, but that down-grade had put his schedule many minutes to the good. he was going a mile a minute now, and he was still gaining on the miles lost in the cañon. as he closed in on the v-shaped opening in the ridge, he slowed down, to make a preliminary survey of the country ahead. the road led on through the bottom of the "v," and matt suddenly took note of a man on horseback, directly in front of the charging _comet_. the horse, frightened by the motor-cycle, was bucking and leaping sideways at the roadside. "what place is this?" shouted matt, as he swung past. "potter's gap!" answered the man. the boy's heart gave a bound, and he shut off and stopped the _comet_ within a dozen yards. facing about, he waited for the horseman to spur his prancing mount closer. "that's another o' them darned new-fangled machines that folks keep inventin'," remarked the man. "where'd ye come from, kid, an' what's yer bloomin' hurry? the way ye was shootin' along, it looked as though ye'd git to where ye was goin' purty nigh before ye started. whoa, blast ye!" he added to his horse. "if i had time, i'd make ye eat oats off'n that two-wheeled thing-um-bob." "my name's king," said matt. "can you tell me where i'll find sheriff burke, of prescott?" "you bet i can! go right around that projectin' rock an' ye'll be in our camp. what ye lookin' up burke fer?" matt did not stop to answer. turning his machine the other way, he sped on around a projecting spur of the ridge, and found himself among a dozen men and horses. the men were all armed, booted, and spurred. the camp had been pitched beside a spring, and some were watering their horses, and others were rolling up their blankets. matt's sudden appearance drew the attention of all, and there was a chorus of wondering exclamations as he brought his machine to a halt. "blamed if here ain't one o' them new kind o' bicycles!" cried one of the men. "slid right in on us afore we suspected a thing! it kain't be this kid's one o' the dangerfield gang?" a tall, broad-shouldered, red-whiskered man pushed through the crowd that was gathering about matt. "who are you?" the man asked sharply. "i'm looking for sheriff burke," replied matt. "then you've made a bull's-eye, first crack out of the box. i'm burke." "what time is it, mr. burke?" asked matt, getting out of the saddle and standing beside the machine. "what's that got to do with it?" demanded the prescott man, staring. "why, i was told to get here at five o'clock----" "ye was, hey?" asked one of the posse, looking at a watch. "then ye're ahead of time, my boy. it lacks five minutes of five." matt's delight must have been reflected in his face, for burke's interest in him manifestly deepened. "who told you to get here by five o'clock?" he asked. "governor gaynor." "gaynor?" repeated the sheriff. "yes. i left phoenix at quarter-past twelve----" "last night?" "no--at noon to-day." "an' you've come a hundred miles in five hours on _that_ thing?" "yes." the bystanders were astonished. not only that, but their respect for the _comet_ visibly increased. "what's the governor got to say?" proceeded burke. matt took the letter out of his pocket. "read that, mr. burke," replied matt, "and it will tell you. don't throw away the envelope. just write on the back of it, 'received at five minutes of five, thursday afternoon and sign your name. i want to take it back and show it to the governor." chapter x. at potter's gap. all those rough and ready men were amazed at motor matt's performance. their interest in the boy and his machine, however, was pushed to the background by their curiosity to learn what sort of a message the governor had sent to burke. the sheriff read the message through, then slapped the letter excitedly with the back of his hand. "here's a go and no mistake, boys!" he cried. "the governor and mckibben have picked up a hot clue about that dangerfield outfit. if motor matt, here, hadn't got this message through in the time he did, the smugglers would have got away from us." "how's that, burke?" asked the man matt had met in the gap, riding forward and joining the rest of the posse. "first off," burke explained, "juan morisco has been nabbed in phoenix. he was getting out of town with a wood-hauler, but he had been acting queer, and mckibben was having him watched. while in phoenix, morisco wore a piece of courtplaster on one side of his face. the wood-hauler's team ran away, just as he and morisco were leaving phoenix, and, in the excitement of catching it, the courtplaster must have got knocked off morisco's face. anyhow, when mckibben saw him after the team was stopped, there was that cross-shaped scar, plain as anything. that was all mckibben needed to see. morisco was taken to jail, and it was what mckibben got out of him that concerns _us_." "what in thunder was juan morisco doin' in phoenix?" queried one of the men. "i thought he was with dangerfield, an' movin' this way, on the road to mexico." "morisco told mckibben," went on burke, "that dangerfield sent him on an important piece of work. he also told mckibben that the smugglers are rounded up at tinaja wells, and that they have heard we're waiting for them at potter's gap, and that they're going to leave the wells to-night, give us the slip, and go south by way of the rio verde." this revelation caused a tremendous amount of excitement, all the men talking back and forth. "how'd dangerfield ever find out we was layin' fer him here?" asked one. "the governor don't say anything about that; but dangerfield must know it, or morisco wouldn't have been able to tell mckibben. the governor says," proceeded burke, glancing at the letter which he still held in his hand, "that morisco tells mckibben dangerfield is going to leave tinaja wells to-night, but that he--the governor, mind you--hopes to get this letter into my hands by five o'clock this afternoon, so we'll have a chance to rush the smugglers at the wells by daylight." he folded up the letter and shoved it into his pocket. "it's twenty miles to the wells, my lads, and if we start at once we can make it. saddle up in a hurry. one of you make my horse ready." instantly the camp became a scene of bustle and excitement. while the men were making ready, burke turned to matt. "i don't know how you ever got through in the time you did, king," he observed. "that machine of yours must be a jim-dandy." "it's the best ever," answered matt. "tell me about your trip--just the main points." matt began with the red roadster and the trouble he had had with the two men who were traveling in it. "dangerfield has a heap of friends through this part of the country," commented burke. "there's a whole lot of people, you know, who don't think smuggling chinks into the united states is very much of a crime. dangerfield must have been expecting something to go crossways in phoenix and had some of his misguided friends watching mckibben. but go ahead." matt told about the smoke-signals, and how they were passed on along the rim of castle creek cañon. the stern lines deepened in the sheriff's face. "dangerfield was sure doing everything he could to make a safe getaway into mexico," said he. "they say he has fifteen men, whites and half-breeds, working his underground railroad. i'm willing enough to believe about those smoke-signals. the two in the red automobile sent word ahead that you and your chum were coming. well, did that make any trouble for you, king?" matt told about the boulder which had been rolled down the side of the notch, and which had crippled clipperton's machine and put him out of the running; but he did not say a word about the half-breed. the sheriff was deeply interested in matt's recital. by that time the rest of the men had finished getting ready, and were pushing around matt and listening to his experiences. as he went on with the incident on the divide, and the way he had escaped from the man and the dog, several rough hands reached over to give him an admiring tap on the shoulder. "you're the stuff, son!" cried one of the men. "you're a fair daisy, an' no mistake!" added another. "if we clean up on the dangerfield gang, it will be you as helped more'n anybody else," dropped in a third. "some o' us, burke," suggested a fourth, "mout lope acrost the divide an' down the cañon, gatherin' in all them outposts. each one means a thousand apiece." "by the time you got there, meagher," returned the sheriff, "you wouldn't find any of the men, so it would be a bad play. besides, we're liable to need our whole force over at tinaja wells. what are you going to do, my boy?" he asked, turning to matt. "i'm going back to phoenix," replied matt. "take my advice, and don't try it to-night. it will be dark on the divide before you could get over it, and it's a ticklish enough place in broad day, say nothing of trying to cover the trail when you can't see where you're going. i'll leave a blanket here for you to sleep on, and a bottle of cold coffee, some crackers, and a hunk of 'jerked.' you can get an early start in the morning, and probably poke this envelope into the governor's hands at noon." fishing the stump of a lead-pencil out of his pocket, burke wrote a few words on the back of the envelope that had contained the governor's message, and gave it to matt. "before i leave, son," went on the sheriff, taking matt's hand, "let me say that i think you're the clear quill. you've done a big thing to-day, and if you hadn't had more pluck and ginger than common, it's a cinch you'd have lost out. now it's up to us, and if we can make good, as you did, everything will be all serene." burke turned away and jumped into his saddle. the rest of the men also shook motor matt's hand, and then got on their horses. "there's the blanket," called burke, tossing a roll in front of matt. "_adios_, my lad, and always remember that burke, of prescott, is your friend. spurs and quirts, boys!" away dashed the posse, burke in the lead. they vanished in the direction of the gap, although their road to painted rocks and tinaja wells was not to take them over the divide. matt was tired, and the prospect of a rest appealed to him mightily. with a cloth taken from his toolkit, he proceeded to dust off the _comet_, and to look it over and make sure it had suffered no damage. he attended to this before he looked after his own comfort. after finishing with the machine, he spread out the sheriff's blanket under some bushes near the spring, and ate a supper of jerked beef and crackers and drank the bottle of coffee. a feeling of relief and satisfaction ran through him. he had finished his "century" run and had delivered the governor's message to burke on time. now, if only clip had been with him, his enjoyment would have been complete. he fell to wondering what clip was about, and how he had expected to help with his smoke-signals. it would have been easy for clip, aided by the half-breed, to send signals along the line carrying information that the trouble was over with. but clip had not been able to do that, or the encounter would not have occurred on the divide. while matt's mind circled about his chum, darkness fell suddenly, as it always does in arizona, and coyotes began to yelp shrilly among the hills. feeling perfectly secure, matt lay back, pulled the side of the blanket over him, and fell asleep. he must have slept several hours, when he was aroused by a rustling in the bushes near him, and a sound as of some animal sniffing about his camp. reaching for the bottle that had contained the coffee, he threw it into the brush. there followed a yelp, and the animal--coyote or wolf--could be heard scurrying away. getting up, matt walked down to the spring and took a drink. as he lifted himself erect, far off across the hills toward the north and west he saw a fiery line rise in the air and burst into a dozen flaming balls. perhaps a minute later the rocket was answered by another, off to the south. "there's a whole lot going on in these hills to-night," thought matt, returning to his blanket. "by this time, i guess, burke and his men must have reached tinaja wells and done their work there. the smuggling of chinks across the mexican border is getting a black eye in this part of the country, all right." once more matt fell asleep. when he was aroused again it was by a sound of voices close at hand. he started up quickly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. morning had come, and in the gathering light he looked through the bushes and off toward the spring. two men were standing by the pool, one an american and the other a mexican. they were both travel-stained and looked as though they had been doing some hard riding. the american was dressed after the fashion prevailing in the hills, and had a couple of revolvers dangling at his hips. each man had a horse, and the animals looked worn and tired. matt wondered who the two travelers could be, for he could not remember having seen either of them among the sheriff's men. as he gave the mexican more critical attention he was amazed to discover that he was the wood-hauler who had fled from phoenix at the time mckibben had arrested juan morisco. _this_ was a disquieting discovery, and matt thought that if he could levant without being seen it would be well for him to do so. the _comet_ was not far away, and matt got on his knees and began crawling toward it. a bit of brush snapped under him, however, and startled exclamations escaped the two men. matt sprang up, with the intention of making a run for the motor-cycle, but before he had taken two steps, an authoritative voice shouted: "halt!" over his shoulder he could see that the american was pointing a revolver at him. matt halted, of course. there was no reason in the world why the two men should interfere with him, and now that he had been unable to slip away unnoticed he faced them boldly. chapter xi. joe bascomb. as motor matt walked toward the man with the leveled revolver, the wood-hauler cried out a startled "_madre mia!_" and gave a jump for the other man's arm. "what's the matter with you, josé?" demanded the american, keeping his eyes on matt as he talked. josé launched into a torrent of spanish. matt could not understand a word of what he was saying, any more than he could understand the talk which clip had had with his uncle, the half-breed, but the change that came over the face of the american was remarkable. in the american's eyes there was a look like that in the orbs of a cornered panther. he had fine features--features that told of an iron will and a fearless spirit; nevertheless, they had a gloomy cast. while josé spoke, something akin to kindness crept through the hard, somber lines, the lips twitched and the eyes softened. the man lowered his revolver, tucked it away in the swinging holster, and turned to josé. then, in the same language josé had used, he spoke rapidly and at considerable length. matt stood and waited, trying to guess what the wood-hauler had said to cause such a change in the man's bearing. "who are you, my lad?" inquired the man civilly enough. "that's a fair question, all right," returned matt; "but you might have asked it before you went through all those motions with the gun. and then, too, i don't know why i should talk about myself until i learn a little about you." "that's straight, anyhow," said the man. "i like a fellow that comes out flat footed and says what he thinks. my name's joe bascomb, and i belong with burke's crowd." "you wasn't with burke's crowd when i saw them here yesterday afternoon." "no more i wasn't. yesterday afternoon, you see, i was on detached duty. but i was in at the skirmish at the wells!" bascomb frowned, as though the memory was not pleasant. "there was a fight?" matt asked eagerly. "were dangerfield and his gang captured?" "there wasn't much of a fight. you see, the smugglers weren't expecting trouble, and burke took them by surprise. a few shots were fired, mainly by burke and his men, but they went wild. the smugglers were making for their horses. six of their number were captured, but a few more got away. among those who escaped was dangerfield. i'm trying to get to phoenix on business, and i wonder if five hundred dollars would tempt you to let me have that wheel?" bascomb pulled a roll of bills from his pocket as he spoke, and held it up for matt to look at. "can you ride a wheel?" asked matt. "never rode one in my life!" "then you couldn't use the motor-cycle. you'd go off the trail on the divide as sure as fate." "bring the machine down here and let me look at it." matt rolled the _comet_ down. after bascomb had studied it a while he shook his head disappointedly. "i reckon you're right," he muttered. "what did you say your name was?" "matt king." "then you're the chap who covered the trail between phoenix and potter's gap yesterday afternoon?" "yes." "well, matt, i've got to get to phoenix as soon as i can, and if you're not in very much of a hurry, i'll climb into my saddle and we'll go together. if----" bascomb hesitated. "if any of dangerfield's scattered gang happened to waylay me, there's something i'd like to have you do for me in phoenix. that's why i'd like to have you along." "if you're waylaid, mr. bascomb," said matt, "they'd be liable to get me, too. dangerfield and his men aren't feeling any too friendly toward me after what i did yesterday afternoon." "no, they wouldn't get you," insisted bascomb. "you could run away from 'em like a streak on that motor-cycle. if i ask you to do anything for me," he added significantly, "i'll pay you well for it." "all right," said matt, "we'll travel together." bascomb turned to josé, and again spoke to him in spanish. the mexican immediately pulled off his ragged slouch-hat and his tattered coat. removing his own hat and coat, bascomb put on the mexican's; then, after transferring his personal belongings from one garment to the other, he turned to matt. "not much of a disguise, is it?" he remarked. "but maybe it's enough to keep the gang from spotting me." "what's that mexican doing here?" demanded matt. "he was with juan morisco in phoenix yesterday, when morisco was arrested. this fellow cut out a horse from the runaway team and got away." "sure he did; and he rode all day and most of the night to find me. we came across each other by chance, not more than two miles from here." "if he's a friend of yours," said matt suspiciously, "and a friend of morisco's, why----" "you don't know mexicans, king. josé doesn't know any more than the law allows, but i rendered him a service once, and he's never forgotten it." josé, apparently paying no attention to the talk, was putting on bascomb's expensive stetson, and a coat which was infinitely better than the one he had exchanged for it. "here's where our trails divide, josé," said bascomb, in english, taking the roll of bills from his pocket and stripping a bank-note from it and handing it to the mexican. "you've made some mighty bad mistakes, but i give you credit for doing your best. _adios._" "_adios!_" answered josé. both men mounted their horses; and when bascomb and matt made off, josé, on his jaded beast, sat watching them until they got around the spur on their way to the gap. bascomb led the way, spurring his animal into a slow gallop. matt followed, accommodating the speed of the _comet_ to the gait of the horse. the long flat was crossed and the mountain climbed and descended--all without mishap, and without a word of talk between the two travelers. matt's mind was busy. to pull the wool over his eyes was not an easy matter, and the story told by bascomb was figuratively speaking, too full of holes to hold water. josé had been with juan morisco. juan was one of the dangerfield gang. josé would not have run from the sheriff unless he had had a guilty conscience. yet, when he had run away, he had taken the trouble to ride a hundred miles and hunt for bascomb. bascomb had explained that josé was indebted to him, and had hunted him up for that reason. but that, as matt looked at it, was no reason at all. then what did that exchange of coats and hats mean? why was it necessary for an officer of the law to disguise himself? here, again, bascomb's explanation did not explain. although these reflections shattered matt's confidence in his companion, the boy did not allow it, for the present, to make any difference in his treatment of the man. bascomb grew talkative when they reached castle creek cañon and started over the clear stretch of road toward hot springs. "what became of the little girl that figured in that runaway?" he asked. there was an eagerness in his voice which matt did not fail to notice. "josé said you stopped the horses, picked up the little girl, and was going to carry her into the house when juan morisco interfered. josé didn't see any more, as the sheriff came up just then." "i took her into the house," answered matt, "and we sent for a doctor." the man started in his saddle and bent his piercing eyes on the boy. "was she as badly hurt as that?" he demanded. "the doctor said he didn't think she could live." "what!" bascomb's eyes were glaring like an animal's as they met matt's. "no, no," he added, dropping back in the saddle and brushing a hand across his forehead, "it can't be. i won't believe it. you stopped the horses, and i don't see how she could have been so badly hurt as all that." "she was tied to the 'reach' of the wagon," explained matt, "and the front wheels broke away from those behind just before we got the horses stopped. the girl was dragged for a ways. if she hadn't been tied, she wouldn't have been hurt so bad." "she's been living at josé's for a month," muttered bascomb to himself, but in a voice loud enough for matt to hear, "and she could stand him, but josé said she couldn't bear juan morisco. it was bad business sending juan after her. josé had to tie her to the wagon to keep her from running off when morisco came. but that doctor was wrong!" and bascomb raised his voice and once more turned to matt. this soliloquy of bascomb's gave matt fresh food for thought. bascomb spurred his tired horse cruelly, and they got past hot springs at a fairly good gait. "what did the girl say?" asked bascomb, when they were well to the south of hot springs, and picking their way among the litter of stones. "did she say anything about herself, or about her folks?" "she wouldn't say anything about herself or her people," replied matt. "true-blue!" muttered bascomb huskily. "she'll pull through--she always had grit; but i wish i was sure!" a mile north of the notch bascomb's horse fell under him. he had been forcing the animal ahead impatiently, and as he fell floundering to the ground over the horse's head, he swore a fierce oath. one of the revolvers had dropped out of bascomb's belt. unseen by its owner, matt picked it up. bascomb, in spite of his temper over the giving out of the horse, knelt beside the animal and unrove the cinches. pulling the saddle loose, he cast it aside; then he removed the bridle and threw it after the saddle. "you served me well, you poor brute," said he, "but not well enough." he whirled away. matt was looking at him along the barrel of the revolver. he started back with another oath. "what do you mean by that?" he cried. "haven't i got enough to torture me without----" he bit the words short, and glared. "take that other gun from your belt," commanded matt, "and throw it away. you can't fool me, bascomb! you're one of the dangerfield gang. i don't think you intended going to phoenix, but you're going now, whether you want to or not!" matt's voice was steady, and his gray eyes snapped in a way that meant business. chapter xii. bolivar turns up. "you're the last person in the world, king," said bascomb, with more injury than hostility in his voice, "who ought to butt in on me like this. if you knew _all_----" he stopped short and pursed up his lips. his gloomy face and haunted eyes were touched with sadness. "i know enough to figure out that you're trying to fool me," said matt. "the yarn you told me back there in the gap won't wash. it's my opinion, bascomb, that you're no more of a deputy sheriff than i am. anyhow, i'm going to take you to mckibben, in phoenix, and give him a chance to pass judgment on you. that other gun, if you please." bascomb thought the matter over for a moment, then drew the revolver. "do you want it?" he asked quietly. "throw it over there in the brush," ordered matt. bascomb obediently flung the weapon into the thicket. "you're right," said he, "i'm one of the gang. i ought to have known better than to try to fool you--you're too keen; but i wanted to go to phoenix, and i wanted you to be with me on the way, so if any of burke's men laid me by the heels i could get you to transact a little honest business for me. i'm going to town, king, and i want to get there in a rush. i'm willing to go as your prisoner and i'll make you no trouble, providing you take me to see that little girl before you take me to mckibben. is it a bargain?" there was something about the man that matt liked, in spite of the deceit he had practised at the start-off of their acquaintance. "when a fellow has lied to you once, bascomb," returned matt, "you never feel as though you could trust him. but i'll go you this time. i'm going to keep this gun, though, and watch you every minute." "that's not necessary, but i'm willing to have it that way if it will make you feel any easier in your mind." "what was it you were going to have me do?" went on matt. "i don't know as i want to mix up in any of your lawless operations." "i wouldn't ask you to do that," said bascomb sharply. "i can't tell whether i want you to do anything or not until after we get to the notch. we're losing time here," he finished, "and i've told you i'm in a hurry to reach town. you ought to know it's important when i'm willing to lose my liberty in order to get there." "well," returned matt, "start on, bascomb. you'll have to travel on foot, and i'll keep close behind you." without further loss of time, bascomb swung off down the cañon. "i can pick up a horse at the tanks," he called back, over his shoulder, "and when we leave there we'll make better time. we'll have to stop at the notch, but i hope we won't have to be there long." "if you're figuring on having some of the gang meet you in the notch, and side-track me," said matt, "i don't think we'll stop there at all." "i give you my word," protested bascomb, "that i'm not going to make you any trouble." "your word's not worth very much." bascomb made no answer to this, but gave his undivided attention to the road and swung into a dog-trot. in less than a quarter of an hour afterward he reached the notch, matt wheeling into it close at his heels. bascomb halted and looked around expectantly. apparently he did not see what he wanted to find, and he placed his fingers on his lips and gave a shrill whistle. matt had the revolver in his hand, and as he waited and watched his fingers closed resolutely on the stock. following the whistle, there was a sound of quick movements up the steep wall. a form bounded off the shelf and came tearing down the slope in the direction of bascomb. a startled exclamation escaped matt's lips. the newcomer was a dog, and the dog was the great dane! it was plain that the dog recognized matt. as the animal crouched at bascomb's feet, his baleful eyes turned in the boy's direction, and he growled menacingly. "i'll shoot the brute if he comes near me!" shouted matt. "i'll not let him touch you," answered bascomb, stooping to pat the dog's neck. "his recollections of you aren't of the pleasantest, i reckon. quiet, bolivar!" he added. the next moment bascomb had untied a cord from the dog's collar and removed a note. he read the note quickly, then tore it in fragments and threw the pieces away. taking a note-book from his pocket, he proceeded to pencil some words on a leaf. tearing out the leaf he folded it compactly and carefully secured it to the leather band. "clear out, bolivar!" he cried, when he had finished. "off with you, old boy!" he added, and waved his hand toward the hills. the dog got up, gave a final snarl at matt, then leaped away. in a few moments he had whisked out of sight. matt was somewhat in doubt as to whether or not he ought to stop this proceeding. it was dear that bascomb had received a communication from some of the scattered gang, and had sent one in return. was he planning to help them evade burke and his posse? bascomb must have divined what was going on in matt's mind, for he turned to him as soon as bolivar was out of sight. "there was nothing lawless about that note, or the one i sent back, king," said he. "it was private business, entirely. now i'm going to scribble a few lines for you, and you can read them in a few days, or any time after we get to phoenix." more pencil work followed in the memorandum-book. another leaf was torn out, folded, and handed to matt. he put it into his pocket along with the envelope returned to him by burke. the winding up of this incident seemed to give bascomb a good deal of relief. "now," he observed, "i'm ready for a quick trip to phoenix, and for whatever happens there." he whirled and started through the notch at a brisk pace. "it's not often," he continued, talking as he strode along, "that a boy makes the hit with me that you have, matt. you'll find out why as soon as we get to where we're going. how long have you been in this part of the country?" "a year," replied matt. "where did you come from?" "albany, new york." "i'd have gambled something handsome you were from the east. i'm from new york city, myself, but i've been knocking around these hills for two years. you see," he added, "i'm a close friend of dangerfield's, and his ideas and mine, about that chinese exclusion act, are identically the same. if this is a free country, how can we keep the chinks out, any more than the eskimos, or the dutch, or any one else that wants to come here? there's a hundred in cold cash for every chink that's run across the border, and dangerfield has been smuggling them in in droves. he has the system worked out fine, and there are good, reliable men at every station on his underground line. juan morisco is the first of the outfit that ever went wrong." for a while, bascomb hurried along in silence; then he commenced talking again. "i reckon you understand, by now, how well dangerfield had organized his gang. there wasn't a loop-hole he didn't have watched. men in phoenix were looking after mckibben, and the minute morisco was jugged they knew it; and when morisco turned traitor and told what he knew, they found that out, too. for more than a year dangerfield has been doing his work and laughing at the authorities. but things were getting too hot for him, and he was planning to go over into mexico and go to mining in sonora. he was ready for the dash across the border when burke got wind of it and went into camp at potter's gap, hoping to head the gang off. up at tinaja wells we knew what he was doing, and if dangerfield hadn't sent juan morisco on a special mission to phoenix the lot of us would have got away from burke and he'd never have caught us." bascomb fell silent again, and for a mile or more he kept up his steady, swinging gait. "it was you, king," he went on, but with no malice in his voice, "who put a spoke in dangerfield's wheel. if it hadn't been for you and the _comet_, the governor couldn't have got word to burke before we had all slipped past him and gotten well off toward the border. that's the way luck will take a turn sometimes." all this was information that might be used against those of the gang who had been captured, and matt wondered at bascomb's recklessness in telling it. "if josé had used persuasion with ollie instead of tying her to the wagon," bascomb continued, with a tinge of bitterness, "there wouldn't have been any trouble, and juan and josé would have gotten clear. but a greaser never does a thing like a white man. it was while josé was tying ollie to the wagon, telling her he was doing it just to keep her from falling off, that the team got scared and began to run." bascomb muttered something to himself, his shoulders heaved and his hands clenched spasmodically. some terrible emotion ran through him, as it had done before, and matt was puzzled to account for it. by that time they had drawn near the descent that led into the ravine. before they started down, some one sprang out into the road in front of them. "matt!" yelled a familiar voice. "great scott!" cried matt, astounded. "what are you doing here, clip?" "waiting for you," answered clip, peering at bascomb. "think i was going back to phoenix without finding out something about how you'd come out? who's this?" "one of dangerfield's gang," said matt. "i'm taking him in." "fine!" exclaimed clip. "but don't go on just yet. the red roadster is at frog tanks. those two roughs are in the _tienda_. if this is one of the gang, those two will make us trouble." "an automobile?" cried bascomb; "at the tanks?" clip nodded. with a leap bascomb sprang away down the slope. "bascomb!" shouted matt. "come back here!" the revolver was in matt's left hand. before he could do anything with it, clip grabbed it out of his hand, leveled it after the receding form, and pulled the trigger. a futile _snap_ followed. again and again clip tried to shoot, but always with the same result. "i'll get him!" said matt resolutely. but before he could start the _comet_, clip had caught him and tried to hold him back. "they'd kill you!" growled clip. "your life's worth more'n a thousand dollars. let him go." "i'll catch him before he reaches the tanks," answered matt. the motor started, and matt was dragged out of his chum's hands. chapter xiii. the red roadster again. bascomb was ascending the farther slope of the ravine as the _comet_ reached the bottom. he looked over his shoulder at matt, then promptly jumped into the rocks and started for frog tanks cross-lots. bascomb could scramble and make headway up the scarred bank, but there was no chance for the motor-cycle to follow. nonplussed, matt came to a halt and waited for clip to come up with him, wheeling his crippled one-cylinder. "tough luck!" said clip commiseratingly, "but it's a good thing, too. it wouldn't do for you to go to the settlement while those two men are there. they're armed. and there's something in their guns that will go off. how long were you driving the fellow in with that useless piece of hardware?" "something funny about that," muttered matt. "did you know the revolver wasn't loaded?" "no." "well, the other fellow didn't." clip chuckled. "you're the boy to do things. too bad you couldn't win out on this." "wait a minute, clip," said matt, "and you'll be as much at sea as i am. bascomb knew that gun wasn't loaded." "he did and you didn't?" clip's eyes widened. "then why did he let you drive him ahead with it?" "that's where the queer part comes in. he must have been willing to be a prisoner." "then he changed his mind. bolted as soon as he heard about the red roadster." "that makes it all the more mysterious. bascomb is a mighty hard fellow to understand." "let's forget it. he's gone, matt, and that's the last of him. where were you at five o'clock yesterday afternoon?" "potter's gap!" "bully!" clip jerked off his cap and waved it. "the governor knew what he was doing when he got motor matt to make that 'century' run. did our smoke-signals help?" "did you send up any?" queried matt. "did we! why, we started just as soon as you bolted up the cañon. 'false alarm; everything o. k.' that's the kind of smoke we sent up." "maybe they did help, old chap. i wasn't interfered with until i got to the divide." "then i was of some use, after all. there were two or three men between the notch and the divide. tell me all about it." matt sketched his experiences briefly. clip's black eyes glistened as he heard of the clash on the cliffside. matt followed on down and told of meeting bascomb and josé at the gap, and of his travel phoenixward with bascomb. clip was vastly puzzled over bascomb, just as matt knew he would be. "if he's one of the gang," said clip, "why is he in such a hurry to get to phoenix? why does he want to go to phoenix at all? it's putting his head in the lion's mouth." "that little girl has something to do with it," declared matt. clip was thoughtful for a minute. "here's how i size it up," said he. "that fellow, bascomb, is what he said he was, at first. he's one of burke's men. but he didn't want to argue the case with you. so he let you have your way. all he wanted was to get to phoenix as quick as he could. he thinks rags can tell him something about dangerfield and his gang. part of the gang's captured and part's on the run. if bascomb can find out quick enough, maybe some more of 'em can be nabbed." matt shook his head. "i don't think you've hit it off, clip," said he. "i'll bet money or marbles i have. that red roadster'll get bascomb to phoenix in short order." "if he's one of burke's men," argued matt, "what will he do with the two roughs who have the machine, and are working for bascomb?" "he'll get the best of 'em," persisted clip. "anyhow, bascomb gets the roadster. see if he don't." "he's not armed, and the other two men are." "never you mind, matt. watch how it comes out." matt got off the _comet_ and sat down on the rocks. "how long are we going to be hung up here, clip?" he asked. "till it's safe for us to pass the tanks. it won't be long, now, if bascomb gets in his work." clip braced his crippled machine up alongside the _comet_ and dropped down beside his chum. "what became of--of your uncle, clip?" queried matt, after a moment. it was a delicate subject, and he hated to approach it. still it covered a point that he felt he ought to know about. the look of hurt pride flashed into clipperton's face. "he left me last night, matt," said he. "i couldn't forget he was of my blood, low as he's dropped. i told him the gang was about done for; warned him to clear out. that's what he did. but he helped send up the smoke-signals." "you did right, exactly right," approved matt. "fine come-down for me, though," said clip, through his teeth. "nice family i've got! what's the use of trying to be somebody? sometimes, i--i----" a lawless light rose in clip's eyes. matt laid a friendly hand on his knee. "you've got it in you to be whatever you want to make of yourself, pard," said he. "at least you know who your folks are, but i don't. i know that my name's not king, but if i'm square with myself and play the game fair, what's the odds? i hate a chap who thinks he's somebody just because his people amount to something; and i'd hate a fellow just as hard who thought he didn't amount to anything because his relatives weren't all he'd like to have them. the thing to do is to stand on your own feet, and that's the _only_ thing!" "it takes you to put heart into a fellow," returned clip. "you've been a mighty good friend to tom clipperton. and in spite of his indian blood. if it was known in phoenix that my uncle----" clip gulped on the words and did not finish. "it will never be known there," said matt. "i know you'd keep still about it. if it got out in any other way, though, i'd never set foot in the town again." "it won't get out, clip, so let's forget it. you stayed in the ravine to wait for me?" "sure. i wasn't going back to phoenix without you." "you slept on the rocks?" "didn't you sleep in the gap?" "what have you had to eat?" "the stuff we took away from gregory's place." "there wasn't half a square meal in all of it!" "i started for the tanks, an hour ago, to get something. saw the red roadster in front of the _tienda_ and changed my mind." matt fished his last piece of jerked beef out of his pocket and put it in clip's hand. "now, regale yourself," he laughed. clip began on the meat, and while he was eating the pounding of a motor reached their ears. "the automobile!" he gasped. "and coming this way," added matt, swerving his eyes up the slope. "the three of them are coming back," went on clip. "they're after us, matt!" "how do you make that out, clip? if bascomb is one of burke's men, he couldn't be coming back with two of the dangerfield gang. if he's coming back alone he's unarmed, and we'll be more than a match for him." "maybe bascomb failed to get the roadster! maybe the two roughs are heading this way! if----" the words faded on clip's lips. just then the red roadster showed itself at the top of the rise. bascomb was on the driver's seat and the other two men were not in evidence. bascomb came down the slope slowly and halted the roadster in front of the boys. "all aboard for phoenix!" said he calmly. "one of you get in the rumble with the machines; the other climb up here beside me. hurry! you know i'm in a rush, matt." chapter xiv. on to phoenix! this was the biggest surprise the mysterious bascomb had yet sprung. clip stared at him for a moment, with jaws agape, then trundled his motor-cycle forward and lifted it into the rumble. he fixed himself on the seat, and leaned down to help matt lift up the _comet_. neither of the boys spoke--they were too bewildered. "what you got in that canteen?" asked bascomb. "gasoline," said clip. "good enough! hand it over here." clip unlashed the canteen and gave it to bascomb. he at once began emptying it into the roadster's tank. "i was afraid the fuel would play out on us," remarked bascomb, when he had emptied the canteen, "but now we're safe for the run to town. are you as handy with an automobile as you are with a motor-cycle, matt?" he asked. "i guess yes," matt answered. "then get in behind the steering-wheel. i'm not much good at it, and we've got to go over the line for a record. see how quick you can get us to phoenix." matt went down to the foot of the hill to turn around. when they had toiled up the bank to a level stretch, he let the roadster out, and they went through frog tanks like a red streak. jem, who had driven the car, and the other man who had left phoenix with him, were sitting on the steps of the _tienda_. they made no move to stop the car, but watched moodily as it passed them. matt could not see clip's face, but he knew his chum must have been thunderstruck. matt himself had begun to take all these surprises as a matter of course. "you thought i was running away from you, i reckon?" said bascomb. matt nodded. "well," went on bascomb, "i didn't have time to explain. i was afraid the roadster would get away before i could reach the _tienda_." "did you have any trouble getting it?" matt asked. there was a bitter undernote in the laugh bascomb flung back. "why should i have any trouble?" he returned. "those two men are not in the gang, but they're friendly toward dangerfield. when i told them it was dangerfield's business that was taking me to phoenix, they were willing i should have the machine. who's your friend, matt?" "my name's tom clipperton," said clip, answering for himself. bascomb started. "a relative of pima pete?" he inquired, turning around. "what's that to you?" "nothing; but it may mean a lot, one of these days, to you and to motor matt." there was a veiled meaning in the words, but bascomb was full of veiled meanings. neither matt nor clip pressed him for an explanation. the power of sixty horses was tucked away under the long hood of the roadster. all this energy was under matt's control. as always, whenever he had anything to do with motors, his delight grew as their headlong rush increased. up the slope they dashed, and past the place where matt and clip had had their encounter with jem and the other ruffian. the little adobe at the desert well leaped at them and fell away behind with the swiftness of thought. three men and two horses were standing in front of the adobe. one of the men was gregory. the other two were put to it to keep their horses from getting away. matt recognized both the horsemen as belonging to sheriff burke's posse. "do you know those two with the horses?" shouted bascomb, in matt's ear. matt ducked his head. "and you didn't stop! a good thing for you, motor matt. you're beginning to trust me a little, and you'll not lose by it." the afternoon sun was half-way down the sky. the gray desert sparkled and gleamed in front of the roadster, but behind it was blotted out by the dust of that mad flight. and _why_ they were racing, matt did not know. "hit 'er up! hit 'er up!" was the constant cry of bascomb. in the narrow seat behind, clip lurched, and swayed, and rattled the motor-cycles. "hang on, clip!" yelled matt. "we don't want to drop you off." "never mind me," roared clip. "i'm in the seat about half the time. on the motor-cycles the other half. but you can't loose me." they reached the black cañon road and went spinning into it, some of the wheels in the air. down the old familiar black cañon road they shot, and fairly jumped the bridge at the canal. "you're a wonder, motor matt!" cried bascomb huskily. "i've seen driving, in my time, but never any like this!" "if it's speed you want----" "you're giving it to me! it may be a race with death who--who knows?" matt pondered those words as well as he could with every faculty centered in the running of the car. "you're mighty anxious to get yourself behind the bars, bascomb," said he. "bars!" burst out the man. "what do i care for bars and stone walls at a time like this? take me to the house where you left ollie--the shortest way." "ollie?" "the little girl. didn't she tell you her name?" "she said it was 'rags.'" a groan came from bascomb's lips. "that's what it's been for the two years i've been in arizona. now that everything was going to be different, _this_ had to happen. hit 'er up, king! can't you do better?" every pound of power was purring in the cylinders. no motor ever made had run as sweetly, nor hurled a car over a road so surely and easily. the machinery responded instantly to the slightest touch. matt's blood tingled with the joy of it all. he ceased to bother his brain with bascomb and his affairs, wrapping himself completely in the noble work of the roadster. it was not necessary to go through phoenix to reach the mcready home. a cross-road from the black cañon road would place them in the thoroughfare that ran past the house. matt took the cross-road on two wheels, and, half a minute later, lurched into the main thoroughfare in the same way. a horse and buggy were standing in front of the mcready gate. matt slowed down so as not to frighten the horse. "why are you doing that?" asked bascomb hoarsely. matt nodded toward the rig. "we don't want to have a runaway," he answered. "how much farther have we got to go?" "that horse and buggy are in front of the house. they belong to the doctor." "that means," faltered bascomb, "that--that----" "that the doctor's making a call." matt brought up the roadster beside the walk, a little way from the horse. bascomb was over the side of the car before it had fairly stopped. he ran to the gate, threw it open, and hurried along the front walk to the porch. matt followed him as quickly as he could. he got to the gate in time to see welcome perkins and chub confronting bascomb at the steps. "what's the matter with ye?" welcome was demanding. "don't ye know we got sick folks in this house? ye're slammin' around like ye didn't care how much noise ye made." "is the little girl here?" queried bascomb, lowering his voice. "she's here, all right, but she can't be disturbed. the doctor's in there----" "matt!" exclaimed chub, catching sight of his chum for the first time. "well, i wasn't expectin' to see you. who is this feller? put me wise. what's the matter with him?" "he wants to see rags," said matt. "let him into the house." "but she can't last long, matt, and the doctor said she wasn't to be disturbed." bascomb leaped up the steps, pushed welcome and chub right and left with his strong arms, opened the door, and disappeared inside the house. "shade o' gallopin' dick!" scowled welcome. "that feller acts like he owned the place. what in tarnation ails him?" matt did not take time to answer. stepping to the open door, he looked in. bascomb, just over the threshold, was confronted by the doctor and susie. "what's the meaning of this?" asked the doctor, in a low tone. "i want to see the girl," panted bascomb. "this is no time to say no to me." "who are you?" "that's nothing to you. i've got as good a right here as anybody." bascomb hurried on to the couch. rags, her tangled hair lying all about her on the pillow, was lying quietly, with closed eyes. bascomb stumbled to his knees beside the couch. "ollie!" he murmured. "ollie?" matt saw the eyes open and stare upward into the face bowed over the couch. then, as he, and the doctor, and susie breathlessly watched and listened, the little girl's arms went up and twined about the man's neck. "dad!" she murmured. "am i dreamin', 'r w'at? is it yous, dad?" the doctor started, then, seizing his hat, he vanished from the room, got into his buggy, and whipped away as fast as his horse could travel. chapter xv. the end of the mystery. matt and susie withdrew to the porch and softly closed the door behind them. the minds of both of them were in a daze. there were tears in susie's eyes. "fellers useter act that way when i was rampin' around in the hills," growled welcome, with a fierce look at the closed door; "but they was mostly lawless, an' didn't keer fer no one. i got a mind to go right in there an' drive the feller out!" "sh-h-h!" admonished susie; "not so loud, welcome. it's rags' father." "father!" echoed welcome, chub, and clip. "yes," said matt. "don't it beat anything you ever heard of, clip? bascomb is rags' father! no wonder he was in a hurry to get here. josé, the mexican that was with juan morisco when the team ran away, found bascomb in the hills and told him of the accident. after i fell in with bascomb he started to asking me about rags. i'd no sooner told how badly hurt she was, when he got in the biggest kind of a hurry to reach phoenix." "we certainly got here on the jump," said clip. "if you want to get speed out of a motor, put motor matt in charge." "didn't rags tell you anything about herself?" asked matt. "not a word," said chub. "and she can't get well?" susie shook her head. "who's her father, anyhow?" spoke up welcome. "joe bascomb," answered matt. "he's one of the dangerfield gang." "you been mixin' up with that gang, matt king?" went on welcome. "you bet he has," said clip. "matt's done a lot of mixing. pretty hot, some of it." "where'd you go so sudden, pard?" came from chub. "what was it the governor wanted of you?" "he wanted me to turn a 'century' in five hours," answered matt. "up castle creek cañon and over the divide, at that," interpolated clip. "he did it in less than five hours. and fought smugglers all the way." "but where'd he pick up this bascomb?" persisted welcome. "that's what's worryin' me a hull lot." "it's too long a yarn to spin now, welcome," replied matt. "you'll get it all some time. what came over the doctor all at once? does anybody know?" "not me," said chub. "he dug out o' here like he had a hurry-up call over in town somewhere. never said a word, but just rolled into his buggy and began kicking up the dust." "he's coming back," reported clip, his eyes up the road. "seems to be in as big a rush to get back as he was to get away." "that isn't the doctor," said susie, as the rig drew nearer. "there are two men in the buggy and neither of them is the doctor." "one's mckibben," said chub, "and the other is sparks, his deputy. i'm next now. the doctor found out bascomb was one of the dangerfield gang, and hot-footed it for the sheriff's office." the rig drew up with a rush in front of the gate, and the two officers dropped out. leaving sparks to tie the horse, mckibben hurried into the yard. matt went down the porch steps to meet him. "ah, king!" exclaimed the sheriff, a sparkle in his eyes. "i thought you'd be back to-day. made good, as usual, eh? the doctor says one of the gang is here." "he's in the house," said matt. "he's the father of the little girl, and----" "the doctor told me that. ever since morisco told me what he knew, i've been half-expecting this would happen. the only thing in the way was having the girl's father find out how badly she was hurt. who told him?" "the mexican that rode off on the horse when you arrested morisco." "he couldn't have told him all--he didn't know it." "well, i told bascomb what i knew." "bascomb?" queried the sheriff. "that's the man's name." "oh!" "i'd leave him alone in there for a while, mr. mckibben," went on matt. "he's having a hard time of it." "i'll not bother him yet." mckibben turned to his deputy who was just coming through the gate. "go around to the rear of the house, sparks," said he, "and see that he don't get out that way." sparks disappeared around the corner of the building. "did morisco tell you anything about the girl, mr. mckibben?" queried matt. "he told me all about her," replied the sheriff. "morisco was sent on here to get the girl and take her out to the rio verde. when the gang came along her father was to pick her up and take her with him to mexico. this here bascomb came from the east, and left the girl behind him. from what i got from morisco, i figure that the little one had a hard time of it. bascomb, knowing the gang was soon going to change its location, sent east and had the girl come to phoenix. josé is a brother of juan's, and bascomb had the wood-hauler take charge of his daughter until he could get hold of her himself. when a man's a criminal, his operations are a bit hampered. that's the way it was with bascomb. he had to watch his chance, send juan in to town, and have him bring the girl to the rio verde. only juan didn't. matters went a little wrong for him. trust a couple of greasers to botch things up! why, one of my men had spotted juan morisco the minute he hit the mexican quarter. we couldn't just identify him, that was all. a piece of courtplaster covered the scar on his face. the governor will be mighty tickled, matt, when he hears how you've made good." "have you heard how burke came out?" "got a wire from prescott an hour ago. six of the gang were captured at tinaja wells; the rest, including dangerfield, made a run of it and got clear. but i reckon the smuggling of chinks into this section has been pretty well discouraged. you did a cracking good piece of work for uncle sam yesterday, my boy." "i wish it had turned out a little different," said matt, looking away. "different?" asked the sheriff. "how do you mean?" "if poor little rags could only have pulled through----" "we've got to take those things as we find 'em," said mckibben gruffly. "it's hard lines, of course, and i'm sorry for bascomb. but he brought it all on himself. if he'd have led an honest life, rags wouldn't have been left to shift for herself. every man that goes wrong pays the penalty--and sometimes makes others pay part of it. how long has he been in there?" the sheriff nodded toward the house. "about half an hour," answered matt. "i reckon that's long enough." mckibben walked to the steps and ascended to the front door. just as he was about to lay his hand on the knob, the door opened and bascomb shambled out. he hardly looked like the same man. his shoulders were drooping forward, his head was bowed, and his face was heavy with grief. mckibben stepped up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. bascomb started at the touch and lifted his head passively. "well?" said he, in a low tone. "you're under arrest, dangerfield," said mckibben. matt and clip hardly believed their ears. dangerfield! had mckibben made a mistake? "nothing much matters now, mckibben," returned the prisoner wearily. he held out his hands, wrists together. "i'm not armed, and i wouldn't make you any trouble if i was." a pair of handcuffs were snapped into place, and the sheriff tucked a hand under his prisoner's arm and led him down from the porch. "all right, sparks!" called the sheriff. while the deputy was coming around the house, the prisoner turned to matt. "joe bascomb dangerfield, king, is my full name," said he. "i only gave you part of it. some things you didn't understand before i suppose are perfectly clear to you now." he faced the sheriff. "understand this, mckibben," he went on, "it was matt king who brought me in. he took charge of me in castle creek cañon. the reward goes to him." "he'll be taken care of," said mckibben briefly. once more dangerfield turned to matt. "you did your best for ollie, king," he continued, a shake in his voice. "give me your hand." the handcuffs rattled as matt shook the prisoner's hand; then, between mckibben and sparks, dangerfield was led away. criminal though dangerfield was, matt pitied him from the bottom of his heart. instead of using the doctor's rig for the return to town, the officers appropriated the red roadster. sparks got in behind, with the prisoner, and mckibben took the driver's seat. they were soon across the bridge and lost to sight. "waal, snakes alive!" muttered welcome perkins. "blamed if matt didn't ketch the leader o' the gang without never knowin' it." matt whirled and went into the house. susie was already in the front room. she motioned toward the couch. rags was lying still and silent, her hands crossed on her breast. chapter xvi. matt reports to the governor. it was half-past five that afternoon when the _comet_ came to a halt at the steps of the capitol building. motor matt, in no very cheerful frame of mind, got off the machine and made his way to the governor's office. "why, it's king!" smiled the secretary, meeting him in the outer room. "is the governor here yet?" asked matt. "yes, and expecting you. mr. mckibben is with him. the governor usually goes home at half-past four, but he stayed later to-day, expressly to get your report. just a minute." the secretary went to the door of the private office, knocked, and vanished inside. "go right in," said he, when he had reappeared. cap in hand, motor matt passed into the other room. governor gaynor met him at the door with a warm handclasp. "motor matt, king of the motor boys!" exclaimed the governor, leading matt to a chair. "sit down, my lad," said he. "i'm not going to let you get away from here for quite a while." matt pulled the envelope from his pocket. "there, governor," said he, handing it over, "that will tell you what time i made on that 'century' run." governor gaynor read the penciled words on the back of the envelope, and laughed. then he passed the writing on to mckibben. the sheriff chuckled. "what's the matter with it?" asked matt, puzzled. "didn't you read it?" asked mckibben. "haven't had much time to read it, mr. mckibben, since the sheriff gave it to me." "listen," and the sheriff read the following: "'governor: this will certify that motor matt delivered your message to me at five minutes of five, of the same day he carried it out of phoenix. it will also certify that he made the pluckiest and most successful hundred-mile run ever pulled off in the southwest. you ought to make him your official courier, at ten thousand a year. burke.'" matt flushed. "oh, i don't know that the trip was anything to brag about," said he. "luck was with me--and the _comet_ can go." "luck and pluck have a way of moving along together," said the governor, taking a roll of bills from the desk and handing them to matt. "there's your hundred. but for your work, matt, burke would have been helpless. i am pleased to say that there'll be a thousand more coming to you just as soon as a few formalities can be attended to. you won't leave for denver until after that?" "had i ought to take that reward-money, governor? i don't feel right about it, somehow." "well, bless my soul!" exclaimed the governor. "it's good money, and well-earned." "what's more, dangerfield himself wants you to have it," put in mckibben. "it's the queerest situation i ever went up against, governor," he added, turning to gaynor. "in spite of the fact that matt captured dangerfield and brought him in, the boy seems to have made a bigger hit with dangerfield than with any one else." "i didn't really capture him, mr. mckibben," protested matt. "dangerfield was coming to phoenix, anyway." "well, he's trying to help you to the tune of a thousand dollars, and you'd better let him. of course," went on mckibben whimsically, "sparks and i can use the money if you can't." "there--there'll be some expenses on rags' account," said matt, "and i want those to come out of the money." the governor leaned back in his chair and studied matt thoughtfully. "you're a queer one, matt," said he, "and your sentiments are an honor to you. let it go that way, mckibben," he added to the sheriff. "sure!" said the sheriff heartily. "and now," went on the governor, handing mckibben a cigar and lighting one for himself, "tell us the whole thing, matt, from start to finish. don't leave anything out. i don't care if i never get supper." matt plunged into the recital. there were parts of it he tried to glide over, but neither mckibben nor gaynor would let him. one or the other was always ready with an adroit question which brought out the whole story. "why," said the governor, when matt had finished, "that 'century' run alone was enough to make you famous, but the finest part of your work was the way you came in with dangerfield." "you can't beat it!" declared mckibben. "i need a deputy sheriff, matt. how'd you like the job?" matt shook his head. the sheriff was joking, and matt knew it. anyhow, one job like that he had just finished was enough for matt. "i'm going to need a secretary pretty soon," remarked the governor; and he was in earnest, even if the sheriff had not been. "how would you like _that_ job?" "i'd like it fine," answered matt, "if there was a gasoline motor mixed up in it." "i wish there were," murmured the governor, "for i can see where your work is cut out for you." he got up and took his hat. "i'll see you again before you start for denver. it will probably be a few days before that thousand will be turned over." they left the office together, and the governor got into his automobile at the curb. "what will they do with dangerfield, mr. mckibben?" inquired matt, as he got ready to ride home on the _comet_. "he'll stand trial, along with the six men captured by burke," replied the sheriff. "all of them will get good, long terms in a government prison. also," added the sheriff, "the two rascals who got out of town ahead of you in that red roadster will have a chance to explain matters. i'm holding the car, and they'll have to come to me after it." * * * * * the red roadster was never claimed. probably this is not to be wondered at, considering the difficulties the two men would have gotten themselves into had they shown up at the sheriff's office. who the men were was never discovered. they had been boarding in an obscure hotel, and had kept the machine in a private garage. it was supposed that they were criminals of some sort, and, if not actually allied with the dangerfield gang, had been commissioned by the leader to keep watch of the sheriff. yet, be that as it might, both men vanished from frog tanks and were never afterward located. two days later ollie dangerfield was laid away under the palms and umbrella-trees in the phoenix cemetery. susie, chub, welcome, matt, clip, and many others of the townspeople attended the funeral. the little girl's story had become known through the town, and had excited much interest and a good deal of sympathy for dangerfield. during the days that followed, and while matt was waiting for the reward, a great plan had formed itself in clipperton's brain. he called on matt at mrs. spooner's, and placed it before him in all its dazzling grandeur. "that red roadster is a fine car, matt," said clip. "you ought to know. what do you say?" "it's a fast car," answered matt guardedly. "why, clip? what of it?" "suppose nobody claims it? what will be done with it?" "give it up." "couldn't it be bought? ought to be a bargain." "look here!" cried matt, starting up in his chair. "what are you trying to get through your head, anyhow?" "why, it would be a heap easier for us. on that denver trip, i mean. if we could get hold of that----" "that's a dream, old chap," laughed matt. "where's the money to come from?" "you'll have some. i can raise as much, i reckon." a motor-car! matt's enthusiasm must have shown in his face. he knew clip's project was impracticable, for, even if they could raise money enough between them to get the red roadster, it would have been madness to put all their funds into such a venture. "we can do it, matt!" cried clip excitedly. "no, clip," returned matt, coming down to earth again, "we can't do it. we'd look nice with all our money tied up in an automobile, wouldn't we? get your machine fixed----" "i've had it fixed." "well, the motor-cycles ought to be good enough for us." "don't you ever want an automobile? wouldn't you rather have it than a motor-cycle?" "sure; but we can't afford to own one. by the way, just to change the subject a little, i've got something here that'll interest you." matt took a folded paper out of his pocket. "what is it?" inquired clip, stepping to matt's side. "just a minute, clip," said matt. "did i tell you that dangerfield gave me a note, there in the notch, on our way to phoenix, and told me to read it any time after we reached town?" clip nodded. "well, i just read that note an hour ago. most of the things we couldn't understand about dangerfield have been cleared up, but here's a new mystery." "you say it concerns me?" asked clip, surprised. "in a way, yes. read it, and you'll see how." clip opened the note. it ran as follows: "motor matt: in a few days one of my men, named pima pete, will try to get your help in a certain undertaking. it's an honest undertaking, too, and i advise you to do what you can. _you will find it profitable to yourself._ bascomb." the name of pima pete brought a flush to clipperton's face. "if pete shows himself," said he, "he'll be arrested." "i guess he knows that, all right," answered matt. "whatever the work is, he may find a way of asking my help without doing it in person." "will you help him?" "that depends, clip. we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." "as you say," said clipperton, "it's a thing that interests me. promise me one thing: that you'll give me a chance to help pima pete myself, in case you hear from him." "i had already made up my mind to that, clip," replied motor matt. "it may be a false alarm, though, and nothing come of it." clip shook his head. "i don't think dangerfield is in the habit of giving false alarms. something is going to happen. and soon." whether clip would prove a true prophet or not, only the future could tell, but matt, having won out, did not mean to borrow trouble, and so, boylike, let the morrow take care of itself. the end. the next number (4) will contain motor matt's race or, the last flight of the _comet_. trouble on the road--the stampede--clip's note--mckibben's tip--a victim of circumstances--the pride of tom clipperton--laying plans--the rifled cache--the break in the road--prescott--matt makes a new move--the old hopewell tunnel--quick work--steam vs. gasoline--in court--conclusion. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, march 13, 1909. terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, 5c. each. 3 months 65c. 4 months 85c. 6 months $1.25 one year 2.50 2 copies one year 4.00 1 copy two years 4.00 =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, 79-89 seventh avenue, new york city. one thousand dollars reward. "i really think it was just the neatest thing that i ever did in that line," said the grizzled old captain gapsill. "to what do you allude?" i inquired, knowing that i was about to hear something interesting. "that little affair i had with black ben." "black ben? who is he?" "hain't you ever heard tell of him?" demanded the captain, in amazement; and then, recollecting himself, he added: "i forgot; that was before your time--at least, you must have been quite a younker then. black ben, next to mike fink, was one of the greatest pirates that ever infested the mississippi." "what became of him?" "i was going to tell you. in the first place, you mustn't imagine he was a negro because he was called black ben. he had a skin as dark as a mulatto's, and a fearful lot of great, black, bushy hair, which stood up like bristles; and, as he always went without a hat, i can tell you he was just about the most villainous-looking creature you ever saw. besides that, he had jet-black whiskers, short and sticking out like needles, and growing up almost to his eyes; so when you looked at him you saw about a bushel of black, bristling hair, and in the midst his great eyes glowing like coals of fire. he wasn't more than five feet in height; he had short legs, very long arms, and immense muscular power. he generally went dressed as a backwoodsman, and had two comrades--ordinary-looking men, but as bloody and merciless cutthroats as he. "black ben had been seen as far up as cairo, and as low down as natchez. he was such a queer-looking creature that it was impossible for him to disguise himself enough to go among the towns or where he would have run any danger. his principal hunting-ground was from the mouth of the arkansas north to the tennessee line. here he had all the opportunity he wished for hiding himself, and i don't believe a party of red indians ever could have hunted him to his hole. if he hadn't met his fate in the queer manner he did he might have hunted there until he died of old age. "in those days a great many flatboats used to pass down the mississippi on their way to new orleans, and these were the favorite prey of black ben and his men. as the river navigation, with its snags and sawyers, is always so dangerous, these boats often lay to under the bank during the night, when the chances are ten to one that the sharp eyes of these pirates detected them, and, at the dead hour of midnight, they stole out as silently as shadows, crept over the boat, cut the throats of the unsuspicious sleepers, gutted the craft, then scuttled it and set it afloat. out in deep water it would sink, and that would be the last ever seen or heard of that flatboat. "black ben was a horrid dog, and it was no wonder that there was such terror of him all along the river. captain hallongton, an old friend of mine, had his boat served in this manner, but the night was so dark that he managed to swim off, although his three men were every one of them murdered. the captain had a hard story to tell, and he offered five hundred dollars to any one who would shoot this bloody cutthroat. "i had been from cincinnati down to new orleans fully a dozen times without once encountering this redoubtable blue beard. i had lain to at a place where, it was said, he would be sure to find us; but never once did we catch sight or sound of him, and i would have doubted his existence but for the testimony of captain hallongton and his friends, whom i could not refuse to believe. "'it is strange that i never meet him.' i once said, when he and i were conversing together regarding this river outlaw. 'it must be that he is either afraid of me, or else has a feeling of friendship toward me.' "'don't congratulate yourself too soon,' replied my friend. 'depend upon it, black ben will yet pay you a visit.' "'i have heard so much of him that i must say my curiosity is really greater than my terror.' "'see here!' interrupted the captain, starting up in sudden excitement; 'you're going to start down the river next week?' "'a week from to-morrow.' "'good! you take dick and tom, your usual help?' "'of course.' "'i ship with you as a common hand, just on purpose to help you to a sight of black ben. what do you say?' "the proposition struck me very favorably, and i urged the captain to it. as he was ten times as rich as i was, i didn't exactly like the idea of his going as a common hand, although on my flatboat there was no other position for him. it was finally agreed that he should pass himself as one of my assistants; but as there was no need of his work, he was to do little more than dress himself as such, to deceive any one whom we might encounter, while he might accommodate the labor to himself. "we made all our arrangements as if certain of encountering this fellow. we went more fully armed than we ever did before, and it was agreed that when we reached that part of the river where we had reason to expect the appearance of black ben, or where there was the least likelihood of his seeing us, that nobody should show themselves above deck except captain hallongton and myself. this was for the purpose of making the pirate believe there were only two of us on board, and thus luring him on to what we hoped would be his destruction. "well, we swung loose from cincinnati one fine morning, and in due time reached the mississippi, and lay to at memphis, tennessee, one stormy night, where we fixed everything to our satisfaction. when we started next morning, tom and dick were sent down below in the cabin, with the understanding that they were not to show themselves until they had permission to do so. "it was late in the autumn of 1838, and i remember that the weather was quite chilly, so much so that both hallongton and myself kept on our overcoats all the time. we passed to and fro, plainly showing ourselves to any one who might be along the bank. tom and dick were allowed to come up only when the night was dark, and then they exchanged places with us, so that under no circumstances were more than two of us visible at the same time. "down below helena, on the arkansas side, we had fixed as the place where we might reasonably look for the appearance. there was a long stretch of wood country, where the wretch's most inhuman deeds had been located. "it was a cold, blustering night that we worked our boat under the wooded shore and made fast to the identical spot, where my friend had had his memorable adventure with black ben. he recognized it by several landmarks, and assured me that we would hear from the gentleman before many hours had passed over our heads. "for the last few miles, before tying up, we had kept up a sharp scrutiny of the shores, in the hope of detecting some signs of the outlaw. i saw nothing; but hallongton was positive he caught several glimpses of a man flitting along the arkansas bank, and maintaining a sharp watch upon our movements. "after we had securely tied up our boat, we went below, after our supper, and then made our final arrangements. i should state here that my flatboat was one made after a fashion of my own. it was long and quite narrow, the cabin being, as usual, in the rear. this was made of double thick planking, immediately adjoining the cargo, which stretched away to the bow. a small orifice had been bored through this planking, so that one in the cabin could talk in a whisper to one who was in the main body of the boat among our cargo of pork. this was done at the suggestion of captain hallongton, in accordance with a plan which we had formed between us. "when it was fully dark, tom and dick crept carefully over the cabin, in among the pork, and took their position near the hole which i have just mentioned. when we had chatted together a while, hallongton did the same, while i maintained my place near the cabin. "we were so close under the bank that a long limb hung directly over the cabin. "as it looked quite thick and strong, i grasped it with my hands and swung myself upon it. the next moment i had climbed to the top of the tree, and seated myself near the trunk astride of a large limb, where i patiently awaited whatever was to come. "our plans were fully agreed upon, and i knew that i might have sat there until morning without hearing a word from them, or detecting an impatient movement upon their part. "the night, for a time, was pitchy dark, but the moon soon came up over the river, shedding a light which made the opposite shore visible, and gave me a little uneasiness as to whether i would not be detected from the ground below. however, as our line of action had been agreed upon, it was now too late for us to make any change in our part of the program. "i was speculating on these matters, when a slight noise below attracted my attention, and, looking down, i could discern a dark body, moving cautiously toward the boat. in the shadow of the wood, the gloom was too great to make out its identity; but, while i was looking, it leaped as lightly and dexterously as a monkey upon the gunwale, and the next minute i saw that black ben was on the flatboat. "in the bright moonlight he was plainly visible, and answered perfectly the description which i have given. he circled around the boat with the silence of a phantom, and finally halted near the cabin and listened as if to hear the breathing of those within. having finished his reconnoisance, he sprang lightly ashore and disappeared. "i had seen no one but black ben, but a slight noise heard when he was on the boat satisfied me that he had one companion at least with him, and i was sure that he would speedily return. "i was now anxious to hear whether captain hallongton had seen the pirate and whether he was 'posted.' "to satisfy myself, i gave a low whistle. it was immediately replied to--a fact which convinced me that my friends were 'all right.' "it was plain that black ben had no suspicion of the little plan which we had concocted for his benefit; but whether that same little plan of ours would miscarry or not was another question, for we knew that the outlaw was a desperate character, who would play the mischief if he should ever get into close quarters. "now came a period of watching and waiting, continued so long that i had great fear that black ben had scented danger and concluded to give us a wide berth. fully two hours passed away, with me shivering and cramped in the tree; but i had resolved to stay there until morning if the outlaw did not make his appearance before that time. "it could not have been far from midnight when i caught the rustling of bushes beneath me, and i felt sure that black ben was there; but, as i peered down, i was disappointed in discerning not a man, but a large black bear that was lumbering along the shore and awkwardly approaching the flatboat. reaching it, he waded into the water, snuffed around the boat, poked his nose against it, struck his paws against it, and made a racket which struck me as singular upon the part of a bear. "'i would soon stop your sport,' i reflected, 'if i were not watching for bigger game.' "i was watching the brute, when something in his manner of moving about attracted my suspicion, and i scanned him more narrowly than i had yet done. my heart gave a great leap as i penetrated the ruse, and discovered that instead of the object under me being a bear, it was only a man disguised as such. his object in making such a tumult around the boat was evidently to learn whether the men on board were asleep. "occasionally the creature paused and was perfectly still, as if listening; but nothing but the sullen surging of the muddy mississippi, or the dipping of some overhanging branch was heard, and, becoming satisfied that everything was in the shape desired, the bear withdrew from the water, and tumbled away into the wood, in a style which he hardly would have dared to use had he been aware that a pair of eyes were intently scrutinizing his every movement. "a half-hour later, a form sprang from the dark line of wood which lined the shore, landing on the gunwale of the boat at a single bound. one glance was sufficient for me to see that black ben had boarded the _general jackson_, and that the critical moment was at hand. "the hideous-looking creature glided as swiftly and silently as a shadow from one part of the boat to the other, in order to assure himself that no one was watching in any of the out-of-the-way places. he then glided back to the cabin and made a single motion with his arm. the response was in the shape of another dark form, which leaped beside him with all the agility of a monkey. "from where i sat i had both of these precious scamps in range, and i could have sent a bullet crashing through both of them; but, as that was not the plan agreed upon, i concluded to wait. "as i had always understood that black ben was accompanied by two men, i looked for the appearance of his companion; but, as the bushy-headed chief turned his head upon the shore the instant he was joined by his friend, i supposed that he was absent, and would not appear in this matter, which pleased me greatly, as it could not but make the matter all the more easy for us. "the two villains put their heads together and seemed to converse a while in the same manner that you frequently see horses or cows do. agreeing upon their course of action, black ben quietly drew back the slide which covered the door which communicated with the cabin. flashing a sort of bull's-eye lantern down into the gloom, he leaned his head forward and scanned every part of the cabin. "and i know what he saw. what were apparently two human forms wrapped up in their blankets and sound asleep. the next instant the sharp report of two pistols in immediate succession broke the stillness, and black ben and his comrade sprang down into the cabin. "just what we wanted. hardly a second had elapsed when i was on deck, and had slid the door back to its place at the same moment that captain hallongton and tom and dick hurriedly clambered up beside me. "'we've got 'em!' exclaimed the captain delightedly. 'be quick and fasten that down.' "everything had been prepared for such a dénouement as this, and not ten seconds passed ere we had black ben and his friend firmly imprisoned. "the next proceeding of captain hallongton was to dance a double shuffle upon the deck and exclaim: 'we've got him! we've got him!' "'keep still,' i said; 'you act like a crazy man.' "'do you know there is a thousand dollars offered for his head in new orleans?' said he. "i didn't know that, and i felt somewhat like making as big a fool of myself over it, but i did not. "the next thing we heard was a terrible rumpus below--swearing and yelling enough to raise the hair on your head. but what cared we? we had the mighty river-pirate, black ben, and one of his comrades in our power. "not knowing but what some of his friends might be in the neighborhood, we untied the fastenings of the boat and swung out into the stream. we ran considerable risk in so doing, as this was a dangerous part of the river, but captain hallongton understood the current better than i did, and we decided that this was the safest and best thing that we could do under the circumstances. "the tempest and tumult continued below until we were in the middle of the mississippi and gliding rapidly down the stream. then a silence came, and black ben called up to us and asked us what this all meant. we told him that we had caught him trespassing on our boat and intended to take him down to new orleans and sell him. the answer to this was a couple of pistol-shots fired at the spot where he supposed i was standing. it struck beneath my feet, and no doubt he imagined it would pass through the planking and kill me; but it was bullet-proof and there was no danger. finding he could do no harm he took a different course of action. he tried to bribe us to let him go, and made us repeated offers until he reached a figure as high as ten thousand dollars. we told him we would take time to think about it, but we were not quite fools enough to accept any offer which he could make. we knew that all he wanted was to get out on deck, and then there would be the tallest kind of a rumpus. our only safety was in keeping him just where he was and not give him the slightest advantage. "finding his efforts in this direction useless, he fell upon his first plan, of swearing. i have heard some terrible profanity in my time, but i don't think i ever heard anything to equal that of black ben. he kept it up until morning, and then all was still again. "i suppose you understand the way in which we trapped our bird? captain hallongton had taken the trouble of finding out black ben's manner of doing business and had laid his plans accordingly. it was his custom to wait until the crew of the boats he intended to rob went asleep, and he then stole aboard and quietly despatched them either with the knife or pistol. knowing this, we had arranged a couple of dummies, which, as we intended, were mistaken by the river-pirate for the entire crew of the _general jackson_. the small orifice which i first spoke of as connecting the cabin with the main body of the boat had been made by captain hallongton, so that in case there was parley between him and black ben before surrendering the boat, the latter personage could thus be made to believe that it came from one of the forms inside, but his course of action rendered this precaution unnecessary. "we ran a great deal more danger in capturing this renowned outlaw than any of us imagined. we had carefully removed everything in the shape of a knife or hatchet or any kind of a weapon from the cabin, and yet we had every reason to believe that both of these dogs would have their knives with them; but by a purely providential circumstance neither of them carried anything with them except their pistols. how it came about, i cannot say, for it certainly was odd. had either of them their weapons, it would have taken them but a few hours to cut their way through the planking, thick as it was, and we would have been compelled to shoot them to save ourselves from being shot. "if they had become satisfied that there was no hope for them, the next thing in order would have been the bottom of the boat. they would have made a leak which would have carried themselves and the flatboat to the bottom, and likely enough ourselves, too, for you must know it is no easy matter to make your way through the mississippi at high water. "we did not feel easy when we heard them thumping and rubbing the side of the boat, for we were well aware what wonderful things these desperate characters do when they find themselves in such desperate straits. "captain hallongton stood with his loaded rifle, expecting almost every moment to see black ben burst out to view like a raging fury. by placing our ears against the cabin we could hear a peculiar grinding noise, which told us that the gentlemen in there were doing something, although what it was we could only guess. we could hear them muttering and talking to each other, but i could not catch any of the words uttered. "toward the close of the second day, just as we came within sight of the crescent city, two pistol-shots broke the stillness. we could only conjecture what it meant. my supposition was that they had shot themselves, but captain hallongton suspected it was only a stratagem to get us to open the cabin door to give them a final chance to escape, or an opportunity to put a bullet through some of us who might look down. so we paid no heed, but kept on floating down the river. "when we had tied up at the wharf, we brought a number of police officers, acquainted them with our prize, surrounded the boat, and then removed the door of the cabin. we waited a long time, but no one came forth, nor did any sound betray the presence of the men within. at last, one of the officers, more venturesome than the rest, ventured to steal up to the cabin and look down. the next instant he uttered a shout and sprang down, while we rushed toward the cabin. "one glance showed all. black ben and his comrade had both shot themselves, and were stone dead. they had no knives, as i said, but with their simple pistol-barrels they had almost cut their way through the planking. i do believe that if new orleans had been a hundred miles farther off these two precious scamps would have got out of the cabin and, perhaps, effected their escape. "however, we had the satisfaction of receiving one thousand dollars reward, and of knowing that we had cleared the mississippi of one of the most desperate outlaws that ever infested its banks." _especially important!!_ motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ 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. 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? 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 "=motor matt; or, the king of the wheel=." 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. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. 1. motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. 2. motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. 3. motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. 4. motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. 32 large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ numbers 1 to 396 tip top weekly are contained in the medal library 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. 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. _the_ new medal library at fifteen cents [illustration] 150--frank merriwell's school-days. 167--frank merriwell's chums. 178--frank merriwell's foes. 184--frank merriwell's trip west. 189--frank merriwell down south. 193--frank merriwell's bravery. 197--frank merriwell's hunting tour. 201--frank merriwell in europe. 205--frank merriwell at yale. 209--frank merriwell's sports afield. 213--frank merriwell's races. 217--frank merriwell's bicycle tour. 225--frank merriwell's courage. 229--frank merriwell's daring. 233--frank merriwell's athletes. 237--frank merriwell's skill. 240--frank merriwell's champions. 244--frank merriwell's return to yale. 247--frank merriwell's secret. 251--frank merriwell's danger. 254--frank merriwell's loyalty. 258--frank merriwell in camp. 262--frank merriwell's vacation. 267--frank merriwell's cruise. 271--frank merriwell's chase. 276--frank merriwell in maine. 280--frank merriwell's struggle. 284--frank merriwell's first job. 288--frank merriwell's opportunity. 292--frank merriwell's hard luck. 296--frank merriwell's protégé. 300--frank merriwell on the road. 304--frank merriwell's own company. 308--frank merriwell's fame. 312--frank merriwell's college chums. 316--frank merriwell's problem. 320--frank merriwell's fortune. 324--frank merriwell's new comedian. 328--frank merriwell's prosperity. 332--frank merriwell's stage hit. 336--frank merriwell's great scheme. 340--frank merriwell in england. 344--frank merriwell on the boulevards. 348--frank merriwell's duel. 352--frank merriwell's double shot. 356--frank merriwell's baseball victories. 359--frank merriwell's confidence. 362--frank merriwell's auto. 365--frank merriwell's fun. 368--frank merriwell's generosity. 371--frank merriwell's tricks. 374--frank merriwell's temptation. 377--frank merriwell on top. 380--frank merriwell's luck. 383--frank merriwell's mascot. 386--frank merriwell's reward. 389--frank merriwell's phantom. 392--frank merriwell's faith. 395--frank merriwell's victories. 398--frank merriwell's iron nerve. 401--frank merriwell in kentucky. 404--frank merriwell's power. 407--frank merriwell's shrewdness. 410--frank merriwell's set-back. 413--frank merriwell's search. 416--frank merriwell's club. 419--frank merriwell's trust. 422--frank merriwell's false friend. 425--frank merriwell's strong arm. 428--frank merriwell as coach. 431--frank merriwell's brother. 434--frank merriwell's marvel. 437--frank merriwell's support. 440--dick merriwell at fardale. 443--dick merriwell's glory. 446--dick merriwell's promise. 449--dick merriwell's rescue. 452--dick merriwell's narrow escape. 455--dick merriwell's racket. 458--dick merriwell's revenge. 461--dick merriwell's ruse. 464--dick merriwell's delivery. 467--dick merriwell's wonders. 470--frank merriwell's honor. 473--dick merriwell's diamond. 476--frank merriwell's winners. 479--dick merriwell's dash. 482--dick merriwell's ability. 485--dick merriwell's trap. 488--dick merriwell's defense. 491--dick merriwell's model. 494--dick merriwell's mystery. =published about january 5th= 497--frank merriwell's backers. =published about january 26th= 500--dick merriwell's backstop. =published about february 16th= 503--dick merriwell's western mission. =published about march 9th= 506--frank merriwell's rescue. =published about march 30th= 509--frank merriwell's encounter. =published about april 20th= 512--dick merriwell's marked money. =published about may 11th= 515--frank merriwell's nomads. =published about june 1st= 518--dick merriwell on the gridiron. =published about june 22nd= 521--dick merriwell's disguise. street & smith, _publishers_, new york city transcriber's notes: added table of contents. replaced oe ligatures with oe for text edition; html edition retains ligatures. bold is represented with =equal signs=, italics with _underscores_. page 1, changed "cast is off" to "cast it off." page 4, changed "animal's heads" to "animals' heads." page 7, normalized "potters' gap" to "potter's gap." page 13, changed "derived it's name" to "derived its name." page 16, changed "give up the slip" to "give us the slip." page 28, changed "chubb" to "chub" in "susie, chub, welcome, matt, clip, and many others...." page 30, added missing quote before "occasionally the creature...." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. 32 oct. 2, 1909 five cents motor matt's double-trouble or the last of the hoodoo _by the author of "motor matt"_ _street & smith publishers new york_ [illustration: _"stop!" shouted motor matt laying back on the end of the rope_] motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction _issued weekly. by subscription $2.50 per year. copyright, 1909, by_ street & smith, _79-89 seventh avenue, new york, n. y._ =no. 32.= new york, october 2, 1909. =price five cents.= motor matt's double trouble or, the last of the hoodoo. by the author of "motor matt." contents chapter i. the red jewel. chapter ii. another end of the yarn. chapter iii. shock number one. chapter iv. shocks two and three. chapter v. a hot starter. chapter vi. m'glory is lost--and found. chapter vii. "pocketed." chapter viii. springing a "coup." chapter ix. motor matt's chase. chapter x. the chase concluded. chapter xi. a double capture. chapter xii. another surprise. chapter xiii. baiting a trap. chapter xiv. how the trap was sprung. chapter xv. back to the farm. chapter xvi. conclusion. hudson and the northwest passage. the death bite. migration of rats. some great catastrophes. characters that appear in this story. =matt king=, otherwise motor matt. =joe mcglory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. a good chum to tie to--a point motor matt is quick to perceive. =tsan ti=, mandarin of the red button, who continues to fall into tragic difficulties, and to send in "four-eleven" alarms for the assistance of motor matt. =sam wing=, san francisco bazaar-man, originally from canton, and temporarily in the employ of tsan ti. by following his evil thoughts he causes much trouble for the mandarin, and, incidentally, for the motor boys. =philo grattan=, a rogue of splendid abilities, who aims to steal a fortune and ends in being brought to book for the theft of a motor car. =pardo=, a pal of grattan. =neb hogan=, a colored brother whose mule, stolen by sam wing, plays a part of considerable importance. neb himself engineers a surprise at the end of the story, and goes his way so overwhelmed with good luck that he is unable to credit the evidence of his senses. =banks and gridley=, officers of the law who are searching for the stolen blue motor. =boggs=, a farmer who comes to the aid of motor matt with energy and courage. =bunce=, a sailor with two good eyes who, for some object of his own, wears a green patch and prefers to have the public believe he is one-eyed. a pal of grattan, who is caught in the same net that entangles the rest of the ruby thieves. chapter i. the red jewel. craft and greed showed in the eyes of the hatchet-faced chinaman. he seemed to have been in deep slumber in the car seat, but the drowsiness was feigned. the train was not five minutes out of the town of catskill before he had roused himself, wary and wide-awake, and looked across the aisle. his look and manner gave evidence that he was meditating some crime. it was in the small hours of the morning, and the passenger train was rattling and bumping through the heavy gloom. the lights in the coach had been turned low, and all the passengers, with the exception of the thin-visaged celestial, were sprawling in their uncomfortable seats, snoring or breathing heavily. across the aisle from this criminally inclined native of the flowery kingdom was another who likewise hailed from the land of pagodas and mystery; and this other, it could be seen at a glance, was a person of some consequence. he was fat, and under the average height. drawn down over his shaven head was a black silk cap, with a gleaming red button sewn in the centre of the flat crown. from under the edge of the cap dropped a queue of silken texture, thick, and so long that it crossed the chinaman's shoulder and lay in one or two coils across his fat knees. yellow is the royal color in china, and it is to be noted that this celestial's blouse was of yellow, and his wide trousers, and his stockings--all yellow and of the finest canton silk. his sandals were black and richly embroidered. from the button and the costume, one at all informed of fashions as followed in the country of confucius might have guessed that this stout person was a mandarin. and that guess would have been entirely correct. to go further and reveal facts which will presently become the reader's in the logical unfolding of this chronicle, the mandarin was none other than tsan ti, discredited guardian of the honam joss house, situated on an island suburb of the city of canton. he of the slant, lawless gleaming eyes was sam wing, the mandarin's trusted and treacherous servant. a chinaman, like his caucasian brother, is not always proof against temptation when the ugly opportunity presents itself at the right time and in the right way. sam wing believed he had come face to face with such an opportunity, and he was determined to make the most of it. sam wing was a resident of san francisco. he owned a fairly prosperous bazaar, and, once every year, turned his profits into mexican dollars and forwarded the silver to an uncle in canton for investment in the land of his birth. some day sam wing cherished the dream of returning to canton and living like a grandee. but wealth came slowly. now, there in that foreign devil's choo-choo car such a chance offered to secure unheard-of riches that sam wing's loyalty to the mandarin, no less than his heathen ideas of integrity, were brushed away with astounding suddenness. tsan ti slept. his round head was wabbling on his short neck--rolling and swaying grotesquely with every lurch of the train. the red button of the mandarin's cap caught the dim rays of the overhead lamps and threw crimson gleams into the eyes of sam wing. this flashing button reminded sam wing of the red jewel, worth a king's ransom, which the mandarin was personally conveying to san francisco, en route to china and the city of canton. already sam wing was intrusted with the mandarin's money bag--an alligator-skin pouch containing many oblong pieces of green paper marked with figures of large denomination. the money was good, what there was of it, but that was not enough to pay for theft and flight. sam wing's long, talon-like fingers itched to lay hold of the red jewel. with a swift, reassuring look at the passengers in the car, sam wing caught at the back of the seat in front and lifted himself erect. he was not a handsome chinaman, by any means, and he appeared particularly repulsive just at that moment. hanging to the seat, he steadied himself as he stepped lightly across the aisle. another moment and he was at the mandarin's side, looking down on him. tsan ti, in his dreams, was again in canton. striding through the great chamber of the honam joss house, he was superintending the return of the red jewel to the forehead of the twenty-foot idol, whence it had been stolen. while the mandarin dreamed, sam wing bent down over him and, with cautious fingers, unfastened the loop of silk cord that held together the front of the yellow blouse. the rich garment fell open, revealing a small bag hanging from the mandarin's throat by a chain. swiftly, silently, and with hardly a twitch of the little bag, two of sam wing's slim, long-nailed fingers were inserted, and presently drew forth a resplendent gem, large as a small hen's egg. a gasping breath escaped sam wing's lips. for a fraction of an instant he hesitated. what if his ancestors were regarding him, looking out of the vastness of the life to come with stern disapproval? a chinaman worships his ancestors, and the shades of the ancient ones of his blood have a great deal to do with the regulating of his life. what were sam wing's forefathers thinking of this act of vile treachery? the thief ground his teeth and, with trembling hands, stowed the red jewel in the breast of his blouse. he started toward the rear door of the car--and hesitated again. sam wing was a buddhist, as the chinese understand buddhism, wrapping it up in their own mystic traditions. this red jewel had originally been stolen from a great idol of buddha. in short, the jewel had been the idol's eye, and the idol, sightless in the honam joss house, was believed to be in vengeful mood because of the missing optic. the idol had marshalled all the ten thousand demons of misfortune and had let them loose upon all who had anything to do with the pilfering of the sacred jewel. who was sam wing that he should defy these ten thousand demons of misfortune? how could he, a miserable bazaar man, fight the demons? but his skin tingled from the touch of the red jewel against his breast. he would dare all for the vast wealth which might be his in case he could "get away with the goods." closing his eyes to honor, to the ten thousand demons, to every article of his heathen faith, he bolted for the rear of the car. opening the door, he let himself out on the rear platform. a lurch of the car caused the door to slam behind him. meanwhile tsan ti had continued his delightful dreaming. his subconscious mind was watching the priests as they worked with the red jewel, replacing it in the idol's forehead. the hideous face of the graven image seemed to glow with satisfaction because of the recovery of the eye. the priest, at the top of the ladder, fumbled suddenly with his hands. the red jewel dropped downward, with a crimson flash, struck the tiles of the floor, and rolled away, and away, until it vanished. a yell of consternation burst from the mandarin's lips. he leaped forward to secure the red jewel--and came to himself with his head aching from a sharp blow against the seat back in front. he straightened up, and the alarm died out of his face. after all, it was only a dream! "say!" cried a man in the seat ahead, turning an angry look at tsan ti. "what you yellin' for? can't a heathen like you let a christian sleep? huh?" "a million pardons, most estimable sir," answered tsan ti humbly. "i had a dream, a bad dream." "too much bird's-nest soup an' too many sharks' fins for supper, i guess," scowled the man, rearranging himself for slumber. "pah!" tsan ti peered across the aisle. the seat occupied by his servant, sam wing, was vacant. sam wing, the mandarin thought, must have become thirsty and gone for a drink. the mandarin heaved a choppy sigh of relief. how real a dream sometimes is! now, if he---his hand wandered instinctively to the breast of his blouse, and he felt for the little lump contained in the bag suspended from his throat. he could not feel it. pulling himself together sharply tsan ti used both hands in his groping examination. then he caught his breath and sat as though dazed. a slow horror ran through his body. his blood seemed congealing about his heart, and his yellow face grew hueless. the red jewel was gone! the front of his blouse was open! then, after his blunted wits had recovered their wonted sharpness, tsan ti leaped for the aisle with another yell. "say," cried the man in the forward seat, lifting himself wrathfully, "i'll have the brakeman kick you off the train if you don't hush! by jing!" the mandarin began running up and down the aisle of the car, wringing his fat hands and yelling for sam wing. he said other things, too, but it was all in his heathen gibberish and could not be comprehended. by then every person in the car was awake. "crazy chink!" shouted the man who had spoken before. "he's gone dotty! look out for him!" at that moment the train lumbered to a halt and the lights of a station shone through the car windows. the brakeman jammed open the door and shouted a name. "motor matt!" wailed tsan ti. "estimable friend, come to my wretched assistance!" "here, brakeman!" cried the wrathful passenger who had already aired his views, "take this slant-eyed lunatic by the collar of his kimono and give him a hi'st into the right of way. chinks ought to be carried in cattle cars, anyhow." tsan ti, however, did not wait to be "hoisted into the right of way." with a final yell, he flung himself along the aisle and out the rear door, nearly overturning the astounded brakeman. once on the station platform, he made a bee line for the waiting room and the telegraph office. there was but one person in all america in whom the mandarin had any confidence, but one person to whom he would appeal. this was the king of the motor boys, who, at that moment, was in the town of catskill. chapter ii. another end of the yarn. on the same night this oriental treachery manifested itself aboard the train bound north through the catskills, a power yacht dropped anchor below the town of catskill. there was something suspicious about this motor yacht. she carried no running lights, and her cabin ports were dark as erebus. she came to a halt silently--almost sullenly--and her anchor dropped with hardly a splash. a tender was heaved over the side, and four men got into it and were rowed ashore by one of their number. when the tender grounded, three of the passengers got out. one of them turned to speak to the man who remained in the boat. "leave the tender in the water, when you get back to the _iris_, pierson. if the tender is wanted here, a light will be shown." "all right, grattan," answered the man in the boat, shoving off and rowing noiselessly back to the yacht. "hide the lantern in that clump of bushes, bunce," went on grattan. "ay, ay, messmate," answered the person addressed as bunce. "look here, grattan," grumbled the third member of the party, "motor matt has cooked our goose for us, and i'll be hanged if i can see the use of knocking around the town of catskill." "there are a lot of things in this world, pardo," returned grattan dryly, "that are advisable and that you haven't sense enough to see." pardo muttered wrathfully but indistinctly. "now," proceeded grattan, "this is the way of it: we got motor matt and his chum, mcglory, aboard the _iris_--lured them there on the supposition that tsan ti had sent motor matt the red jewel to keep safely for him for a time. motor matt and mcglory walked into our trap. we got the red jewel and put the two boys ashore some fifteen or twenty miles below here. half an hour later i put the supposed ruby to some tests and found it was counterfeit----" "are you sure the ruby you stole from the honam joss house was a true gem?" "yes. tsan ti sent motor matt a counterfeit replica for the purpose of getting us off the track. motor matt and mcglory will take the first train for catskill from the place where we put them ashore. we'll lie in wait for them on the path they must take between the railroad station and their hotel. it's a dark night, few passengers will arrive at this hour, and we can recapture the two motor boys and take them back to the _iris_." "what good will that do?" demurred pardo. "motor matt hasn't the real stone--tsan ti must have that." "i'll find out from motor matt where tsan ti is," said grattan, between his teeth, "and then i'll flash a message to the mandarin that he must give up the real gem, or motor matt _will suffer the consequences_!" "you can't mean," gasped pardo, in a panic, "that you will----" "it's a bluff, that's all," snapped grattan. "it will scare the mandarin out of his wits. have you hid the lantern, bunce?" he demanded, as the other member of the party came close. "ay, grattan," was the reply. "first bunch of bushes close to where we came ashore." "all right; come on, then. i've figured out what train motor matt and joe mcglory will catch, and it should soon be at the depot." with grattan in the lead, the party scrambled up the slope through the darkness, passed some ice houses, crossed a railroad track, and finally came to a halt in a lonely part of the town, near the walk leading from the railroad station to the business street and the hotels. a billboard afforded them a secure hiding place. grattan had figured the time of the train pretty accurately. he and his companions waited no longer than five minutes before the "local" drew to a halt at the station. "if those boys are not on the train," muttered pardo, "then we're fooled again. confound that motor matt, anyhow!" "he has my heartiest admiration," returned grattan, "but i'm not going to match wits with him and call myself beaten. hist!" he added abruptly, "here come two people--and maybe they're the ones we're looking for. mind, both of you, and don't make a move till i give the word." breathlessly the three men waited. footsteps came slowly up the walk and voices could be heard--voices which were recognized as belonging to the motor boys. "well, pard," came the voice of mcglory, "new york for ours in the morning. tsan ti, with the big ruby, is on the train, bound for china and heathen happiness, grattan has the bogus stone and is making himself absent in the _iris_, and you and i are rid of the hoodoo at last, and have fifteen hundred to the good. that's what i call----" by then the two lads had passed the billboard and were so far away that spoken words could not be distinguished. and grattan had given no word for an attack! "what's the matter with you, grattan?" whispered pardo. "they're too far off for us to bag them now." "we're not going to bag them." grattan was a man of quick decisions. "we've changed our plans." while the other two mumbled their surprise and asked questions, grattan had taken pencil, notebook, and an electric torch from his pocket. snapping on the torch, he handed it to bunce. "put a stopper on your jaw tackle and hold that," said he crisply. then he wrote the following: "conductor, local passenger, north bound: fat chinaman, answering to name of tsan ti and claiming to be mandarin, on your train. he's a thief and has stolen big ruby called eye of buddha. put him off train in charge of legal officer, first station after you receive this. answer. james philo, detective." "this is a telegram," said grattan, and read it aloud for the benefit of his two companions. "you'll take it down to the railroad station, pardo," he went on, "and have it sent at once to the nearest point that will overtake the train matt and mcglory just got off of. bunce and i will wait here, and you stay in the station till you receive an answer." "but how do you know tsan ti is on that train?" asked pardo. "didn't you hear what was said when the motor boys passed us?" "but nothing was said about the mandarin being on _that_ particular train." "i'm making a guess. if the conductor replies that no such chink is on the train, then my guess is wrong. if he answers that the chink was there, and that he has put him off, red jewel and all, into the hands of the legal authorities, then james philo grattan will play the part of james philo, detective, and fool these country authorities out of their eye teeth--and, incidentally, out of the eye of buddha." the daring nature of grattan's hastily formed plan caused pardo and bunce to catch their breath. grattan was a fugitive from the law, and yet here he was making the law assist him in stealing the red jewel for the second time! "you're a wonder," murmured pardo, "if you can make that game work." "trust me for that, pardo. now you hustle for the railroad station and get that message on the wires. hurry back here as soon as you receive an answer." pardo took the paper and made off down the slope. he was gone three-quarters of an hour--a weary, impatient wait for bunce, but passed calmly by grattan. when pardo returned he came at a run. "your scheme's no good, grattan!" were his first breathless words. "why not?" demanded grattan. "wasn't tsan ti on the train?" "yes--and another chink, as well. fat chinaman, though, jumped off at gardenville, first station north of catskill. here, read the conductor's message for yourself." grattan, still cool and self-possessed, switched the light into his torch and read the following: "two chinamen, one answering description, came through on train from jersey city. fat chinaman jumped off at gardenville, although had ticket reading buffalo. don't know what became of other chinaman. two young men boarded train river view, talked with fat chinaman, got off catskill. conductor." grattan must have been intensely disappointed, but he did not give rein to his temper. while bunce spluttered and pardo swore under his breath, grattan was wrapped in profound thought. "we'll have to change our plans again," he observed finally. "we gave over the idea of capturing motor matt and mcglory for the purpose of getting tsan ti held by the authorities as a thief; now we've got to give that up. why did tsan ti get off the train at gardenville when he was going to buffalo? it was an oriental trick to pull the wool over my eyes. the mandarin is afraid of me. we must proceed at once to gardenville before tsan ti has a chance to get out of the town." "how are we going to get to gardenville?" demanded pardo. "if we take the _iris_----?" "we won't." "if we walk----" "we won't do that, either. we'll take an automobile. it may be, too, that our motor cycles will come in handy. you go down to the bank, pardo, signal the yacht, and have pierson bring the two machines ashore. while you're about that, bunce and i will visit the garage and borrow a fast machine. you know these hills?" "as well as i do my two hands." "on your way to the _iris_ i'll give you something to leave at the hotel for motor matt." grattan did some more scribbling on a blank sheet of his notebook; then, tearing out the sheet, he wrapped it around a small object and placed both in a little box with a sliding cover. "they may recognize me at the hotel," protested pardo. "i don't think so. it will do me good to have you leave this, anyhow. i don't want motor matt to think that i was fooled very long by that bogus ruby. if we're quick, pardo, we're going to catch tsan ti before he can leave gardenville. and when we nab the mandarin we secure the ruby." grattan was a master rogue, and not the least of his shining abilities was his readiness in adjusting himself to changing circumstances. fate, in the present instance, had conspired to place him on the wrong track--but he was following the course with supreme confidence. chapter iii. shock number one. when motor matt and joe mcglory dropped off that "local" passenger train at the catskill station they had just finished a series of strenuous experiences. these had to do with the great ruby known as the eye of buddha. a cunning _facsimile_ of the gem had been sent by tsan ti to matt, by express, with a letter desiring him to take care of the ruby until the mandarin should call for it. this responsibility, entirely unsought by the king of the motor boys, plunged him and his cowboy pard into a whirl of adventures, and ended in their being decoyed aboard the _iris_. here the ruby was taken from matt by force--grattan, who secured it, not learning until some time later that the object matt had been caring for was merely a base counterfeit of the original gem. and matt and mcglory did not find this out until they caught the train at fairview, when they discovered that tsan ti and sam wing were aboard. the twenty-mile ride from fairview to catskill with the mandarin proved quite an eye opener for the motor boys. they learned how tsan ti had deliberately set grattan on their track to recover the bogus ruby, while he--tsan ti--made his escape with the real gem. this part of the mandarin's talk failed to make much of a "hit" with matt and mcglory. the mandarin had used them for his purposes in a particularly high-handed manner, keeping them entirely in the dark regarding the fact that the stone intrusted to matt was a counterfeit. although the boys parted in a friendly way with the mandarin on leaving the train at catskill, yet they nevertheless remembered their grievance and were heartily glad to think that they were done for all time with tsan ti and his ruby. very often it happens that when we think we are done with a thing we have reckoned without taking account of a perverse fate. this was the case with the motor boys with reference to tsan ti and the eye of buddha. while they were climbing the slope from the railroad station to their hotel, glad of the prospect of securing a little much-needed rest, only a few chance remarks by mcglory prevented them from having an encounter with grattan, pardo, and bunce, who were lurking beside the walk. and at that same moment the faithless sam wing was engineering his stealthy theft in the darkened passenger coach. so stirring events were forming, all unheeded by the boys. upon reaching the hotel they proceeded immediately to the room which they occupied, hastily disrobed, and crept into their respective beds. in less than five minutes the room was resounding with mcglory's snores. matt remained awake long enough to review the events of the day and to congratulate himself that he and his cowboy pard were finally rid of the "hoodoo" gem and the "hoodoo" chinaman who had been looking for it. then the king of the motor boys himself fell asleep. it was mcglory's voice that aroused matt. "sufferin' thunderbolts!" matt awoke with a start and turned his eyes toward the other side of the room. the cowboy was sitting up in bed. "talk about your shocking times, pard," he went on, "why, i've been jumping from one shock into another ever since i hit this mattress. thought i was chased by a blind idol, twenty feet high, and sometimes that idol looked like grattan, sometimes it was a dead ringer for tsan ti, and sometimes it was its own wabble-jawed, horrible self. woosh! and listen"--mcglory's eyes grew wide and he became very serious--"the idol that chased me had _red hair_!" "what difference does that make, joe?" inquired matt, observing that the sun was high and forthwith tumbling out of bed. "what difference does it make!" gasped mcglory. "speak to me about that! don't you know matt, that whenever you dream about a person with red hair, trouble's on the pike and you've got up your little red flag?" "oh, gammon!" grunted matt. "pile out and get into your clothes, joe. we're taking the eleven a. m. boat for the big town, and we haven't any too much time to make our 'twilight,' help ourselves to a late breakfast, and amble down to the landing." "hooray!" cried mcglory, forgetting his dream in the prospect called up by his chum's words. "we're going to have the time of our lives in new york, pard! all i hope is that nothing gets between us and that eleven a. m. boat. seems like we never make a start for down the river but johnny hardluck comes along, jolts us with an uppercut, and faces us the wrong way. look here, once." "well?" "if you get a letter from tsan ti, promise me to say 'manana' and give it the cut direct." "what chance is there of our receiving a letter from the mandarin? he's on his way west with the eye of buddha, and grattan is on his way no one knows where with a glass imitation. both of them are satisfied, and i guess you and i, joe, haven't any cause for complaint. the mandarin is too busy traveling to write any letters." "well," insisted mcglory, "give me your solemn promise you won't pay any attention to a letter from the mandarin if you receive one. if you're so plumb certain he won't write, why not promise?" "it's a go," laughed matt, "if that will make you feel any easier in your mind." "it does, a heap. i'd rather have measles than another attack of mandarinicutis, complicated with rubyitis, and----" "oh, splash!" interrupted matt. "we've been well paid for all the time we were ailing with those two troubles. give your hair a lick and a promise, and let's go down to breakfast. they'll be ringing the last bell on us if we wait much longer." "lead on, macduff!" answered mcglory, throwing himself around in the air and then striking a pose, with one arm up, like ajax defying the lightning. "remember monte cristo like that, pard?" he asked. "'the world is mine!' that's how i feel. us for new york, with fifteen hundred of the mandarin's _dinero_ in our clothes! oh, say, i'm a brass band and i've just got to toot!" the cowboy "tooted" all the way downstairs and into the office; then, as they passed the desk on their way to the dining room, the rejoicing died on the cowboy's lips. "just a minute, motor matt!" called the clerk, leaning over the desk and motioning. "lightning's going to strike," muttered mcglory; "i can see it coming." he followed matt to the desk. as they lined up there, the clerk fished a small box out of the office safe. "this was left here for you last night, matt," went on the clerk. "i was told to hand it to you this morning by the night clerk when he went off duty." the little box was placed on the counter. matt and mcglory stared at it. that was not the first time they had seen that small receptacle. with the counterfeit ruby inside, it had first come into matt's hands by express, direct from tsan ti; then, by a somewhat devious course of events, it had gone into the possession of philo grattan. why should grattan have returned the box to matt? how _could_ he have returned it when, as matt and mcglory believed, he was at that very moment hurrying to get out of the country and escape the law? "shock number one," shuddered mcglory. "not much of a shock about this--so far," returned matt, picking up the box. "wait till you see what's inside." "we'll open it in the dining room," and matt turned away. "i'll bet a bowl of birds'-nest soup against a plate of sharks' fins it's going to spoil your breakfast." they went in and took their usual places at one of the tables. all the other guests had breakfasted, and the motor boys had the big dining room--with the exception of two or three waiters--wholly to themselves. "open it quick," urged mcglory. matt sawed through the string with his knife, pulled out the lid of the box, and dropped a gleaming red object on the tablecloth. "sufferin' snakes!" exclaimed mcglory. "the eye of buddha, or i'm a piute! how in blazes did old tsan ti get the thing back to us? when i saw that last it was in a silk bag around the mandarin's neck." "it can't be the eye of buddha, joe," said matt. "it looks to me more like the bogus gem than the real one." "how can you tell the difference?" "from the fact that the real stone could not by any possibility get into our hands again." "neither could the bogus gem--if it's where we think it is." "i guess here's something that will explain," and matt drew a piece of paper from the box. "who's it from?" queried mcglory, in a flutter. "from grattan," answered matt grimly. "listen," and he read: "'motor matt: you don't know what a tight squeak you and mcglory had to-night--not aboard the _iris_, but after you were put ashore. pray accept the inclosed piece of glass with my compliments. i don't think you knew, any more than i did, that it was counterfeit. if tsan ti gets into any more difficulties, you take my advice and let him weather them alone. grattan.'" "shocked?" muttered mcglory. "why, i feel as though somebody had hit me with a live wire. so grattan found out the ruby was an imitation! and he found out in time to send that back to you last night! say, that fellow's the king bee of all the crooks that ever lived. present the jewel to one of these darky waiters, and let's you and i get busy with the ham and eggs. i'm glad we're for new york by the eleven-o'clock boat, and that the mandarin isn't worrying us any more." the cowboy threw the box under the table, and would have reached for the gleaming bit of glass had not matt grabbed it first and dropped it into his pocket. chapter iv. shocks two and three. the motor boys were very much in the dark concerning philo grattan's movements and intentions. "he was right," observed matt, referring to grattan's note, "when he said i was in the dark as much as he was concerning that piece of glass. he wasn't fooled very long." "there's good advice in that note," said mcglory, who was beginning to have apprehensions that he and matt were not yet done with the eye of buddha. "i mean where he says that if the mandarin gets into any more difficulties we'll be wise to let him get out of them alone the best way he can." "that's more than a piece of advice, joe. if i catch the true meaning, it's a threat." mcglory at once saw a light in the general gloom. "then, if it's a threat, pard, grattan must be ready to make another try for the eye of buddha!" "that's the way it strikes me." "but what can grattan do? tsan ti ought to be whooping it up pretty well to the west by now. he's got a good long start of grattan in the run to 'frisco." "what grattan can do," said matt reflectively, "is as hard to understand as what he has already done. we know he has discovered that this red jewel is a counterfeit, we know he sent some one here to return the piece of crimson glass to me, and it's a fair inference that he's going to make another attempt to recover the real ruby. how he has managed to do all this, however, or what he can possibly accomplish in overhauling tsan ti, is far and away beyond me." "we're out of it, anyhow," remarked mcglory, with an airy confidence he was far from feeling. "you've promised not to pay any attention to any four-eleven alarms you receive from the mandarin, and i'd feel tolerably comfortable over the outlook if--if----" he paused. "if what?" queried matt. "why, if i hadn't seen that red-headed idol chasing me in my sleep. i had two good looks at it. one look means trouble, two looks mean double trouble. call me a piegan if i ever knew it to fail." matt laughed. "never trouble trouble," he admonished, "till trouble troubles you." "fine!" exclaimed mcglory; "but it's like a good many of these keen old saws--hard to live up to. i'll bet the inventor of that little spiel died of worry in some poorhouse. i'm always on my toes, shading my eyes with my hat brim and looking for miles along the trail of life to see if i can't pick up a little hard luck heading my way. can't wait till i come company front with it. well, maybe it's all right. life would be sort of tame if something didn't happen now and then to make us ginger up. but we're for new york at eleven o'clock, no matter what happens!" a few minutes later they finished their breakfast and went out into the office. as matt pushed up to the desk to ask the amount of his hotel bill, and settle for it, the clerk shoved a yellow envelope at him. "telegram, matt. just got here." "shock two," groaned mcglory, grabbing at the edge of the desk. "_now_ what? oh, tell me!" matt tore open the envelope, read the message, stared at it, whistled, then read it again. "somebody want us to run an air ship or go to sea in a submarine?" palpitated mcglory. "sufferin' tenterhooks, pard! stop your staring and whistling, and hand it to me right off the bat." matt caught mcglory's arm and conducted him to a corner where there were a couple of easy-chairs. "it's from the mandarin," he announced. "sufferin' chinks!" breathed the cowboy. "didn't i tell you? say, _didn't_ i? what's hit him now?" "i'll read you the message, joe." "go ahead. all i want you to do, pard, is just to remember what you promised me." "'esteemed friend,'" read matt, "'and highly treasured assistant in time of storm----'" "speak to me about that!" grunted the disgusted mcglory. "his word box is full of beadwork." "'again i call from the bottomless pit of distress,'" continued matt, "'and from this place named gardenville announce the duplicity of sam wing, who suddenly absented himself from the train with my supply of cash and the eye of buddha. having no money, i have requested of the honorable telegraph company to receive pay from you. if----'" "he's lost the ruby!" gasped mcglory, "and sam wing is the guilty man! oh, moses, what a throwdown! why, i had a notion sam wing thought the sun rose and set in tsan ti. and sam wing lifted the ruby and the mandarin's funds and hot-footed it for parts unknown! well, _well_!" "'if,'" continued matt, continuing the reading, "'i cannot recover the priceless gem, then nothing is left for me but the yellow cord. hasten, noble youth, and aid in catching the miserable sam wing.' that's all, joe," finished matt, with a frown. "then drop it in the waste basket and let's settle our bill and start for the landing. it's a quarter to eleven. while you're paying up i'll go to the room after our grips." the cowboy started impatiently to his feet. matt continued to sit in his chair, frowning and peering into vacancy. "mosey!" urged joe. "it seems too bad to turn tsan ti down in such cold-blooded fashion," said matt. "there you go! that's you! say, pard, the mandarin thinks he's got a mortgage on you. what's the good of helping a chink who's so locoed he totes a fifty-thousand-dollar ruby around with him rather than hand it over to the express company for transportation? take it from me, you can keep helping tsan ti for the next hundred years, and he'll never get out of the country till he separates himself from the eye of buddha and let some one else take the risk of getting it to canton. are you going?" "the poor old duffer," continued matt, "is always right up in the air when anything goes wrong with him. we know what the safe return of that ruby to the honam joss house means to him, joe. the ruler of china has sent him a yellow cord--a royal invitation for him to strangle himself if the ruby is not found and returned to the forehead of the idol." "look here," snapped mcglory, "time's getting scarce. are you going down the river with me, pard, or have i got to go alone?" before matt could answer, a well-dressed man hurried into the lobby from the street and rushed for the desk as though he had something on his mind. "that's martin," said matt, looking at the man. martin was proprietor of the local garage and had been of considerable assistance to the motor boys during the first days of their stay in catskill. it was martin who owned the two motor cycles which had been stolen from matt and mcglory by bunce and a pal. the boys had had to put up three hundred dollars to settle for that escapade, but tsan ti had made the amount good. martin talked excitedly with the hotel clerk for a moment, and the clerk leaned over the desk and pointed toward the corner where the motor boys had seated themselves. martin, a look of satisfaction crossing his troubled face, bore down on the corner. "look out for shock number three," growled mcglory. "sufferin' hoodoos! we've taken root here in catskill, and i'll bet we won't be able to pull out for the rest of our natural lives." the cowboy, apparently discouraged with the outlook, dropped down into his chair and leaned back in weary resignation. "matt!" exclaimed martin, "you're just the fellow i want to find." "what's wrong, mr. martin?" inquired matt. "a three-thousand-dollar car was stolen out of my garage last night. the night man was attacked, knocked over the head, and then bound hand and foot. it was a most brazen and dastardly piece of work." "too bad," spoke up mcglory, "but things like that will happen occasionally. think of matt and me getting done out of those two motor cycles of yours." "but i'll have to put up ten times what you fellows did for the motor cycles--that is, if we can't get the car back." "_we!_" boomed mcglory, starting forward in his chair. "if _we_ can't get the car back! are motor matt and pard mcglory mixed up in that 'we'?" "well, i thought when you knew the circumstances that----" "don't hem, and haw, and sidestep," cut in mcglory keenly. "you're in trouble, and whenever anybody in the whole country stumbles against something that's gone crosswise, then it's 'hurrah, boys,' and send for motor matt. i wish i had words to tell you how inexpressibly weary all this makes me. didn't you ever stop to think, martin, that, off and on, the motor boys might have troubles of their own?" "but listen. you haven't heard the facts." "what are the facts, martin?" asked matt. "why, the night man recognized one of the scoundrels who struck him down. the rascal was dressed in sailor clothes and had a green patch over one eye." "bunce!" exclaimed matt, starting up. "that's it," cried martin, glad of the impression he was making. "i knew you and mcglory had been mixed up with that sailor, and i naturally thought you'd be glad of a chance to help nab him." "about what time was the car stolen?" asked matt, quieting mcglory with a quick look. "about half-past two," answered martin. "i've got a car ready to chase the scoundrels. have you any notion which way that car ought to go?" "you're a trifle late taking up the pursuit," remarked matt. "here it is nearly eleven, and the automobile was stolen at half-past two--more than eight hours ago." "i was up at cairo," explained martin, "and didn't get back till ten o'clock this morning." "i've something of a clue," said matt, "but it may be too late to follow it." "where does the clue lead?" "to gardenville." "then we'll make a fast run to gardenville. will you go along?" "yes," said matt. "come on, joe." and mcglory dutifully went. as he, and matt, and martin passed out of the hotel, the down-river boat from albany whistled for catskill landing. the cowboy looked at it. "we'll never get to new york," he murmured; "not in a thousand years. we're out for two different kinds of trouble, and we'll be into both of 'em up to our eyes before we're many hours older." chapter v. a hot starter. motor matt disliked any further entanglements with tsan ti and the fateful ruby fully as much as did his cowboy pard, and he was greatly perturbed over the unexpected developments which had again drawn him and mcglory into the plots and counterplots hovering around the valuable gem. but it was impossible for the king of the motor boys to turn his back upon an appeal from any one in distress when it was in his power to be of help. nevertheless, matt might have cut loose from the mandarin, for he did not like his oriental methods, but his temper was stirred by that half-veiled threat in the note from grattan. matt and grattan had been at swords' points ever since the motor boys had been in the catskills. it was largely a battle of wits, with now and then a little violence thrown in for good measure, and up to that moment neither matt nor grattan had scored decisively. through matt's intrepid work, tsan ti had recovered the stolen ruby, but, as in the case where he had lost the counterfeit gem, matt's success had been merely a fortunate blunder. on the other side of the account, grattan could be charged with a theft of the two motor cycles and with sundry other sharp practices which had gone too much "against the grain" for matt to overlook. the daring theft of the automobile from the garage pointed the way not only for matt to help martin recover the machine, but perhaps, also, to recover the motor cycles, to worst grattan, and to be of some assistance to tsan ti. on the way to the garage with martin, matt explained these matters to mcglory. with the whistle of the new york boat still sounding in his ears, the cowboy listened to his chum, at first, with intense disapproval; but, at the back of mcglory's nature, there was as intense a dislike for being worsted by such a crook as grattan as there was at the back of matt's. cleverly the king of the motor boys harped on this chord, and aroused in his chum a wild desire to do something that would curb, finally and effectually, the audacious lawlessness of philo grattan. to such an extent did matt influence mcglory that the latter began to wonder how he could ever have thought of leaving the catskills while grattan was at large. "sufferin' justice!" exclaimed the cowboy. "grattan is trying to bluff us out of helping the mandarin. that's as plain as the pay streak in a bonanza mine. he must have been with bunce when the bubble was lifted, and if we chase the chug cart we can hand the boss tinhorn a black eye by getting back the machine and landing the thieves in the skookum house. say, that would be nuts for me! the mandarin and his idol's eye can go hang--it's grattan we're after this trip." matt left his chum with that impression, well knowing that if grattan could be captured, the affairs of the mandarin would adjust themselves satisfactorily. the night man at the garage, his head bandaged, was lingering in the big room, watching one of the day men give a final wipe to the lamps of a six-cylinder flyer that was to take the trail after grattan. the night man's face flushed joyfully when he saw matt and mcglory. "good!" he exclaimed. "i guess there'll be something doing in these parts, now that motor matt is going to help in the chase." "you're the man who was on duty when the automobile was stolen?" inquired matt. "don't i look the part?" "martin says you identified one of the men as the old sailor who wears a green patch over one of his eyes." "seen him as plain as i do you, this minute." "what did the other thief look like?" "didn't have a chance to tell, the attack was that sudden an' unexpected." "you are sure there were no more than two of the thieves?" "i could take my solemn alfred on that." "all aboard!" called martin, from the car. "i'm going to let you do the driving, matt. you can forget more about automobiles than i ever knew." matt stepped to the side of the car and drew on a pair of gauntlets that lay in the driver's seat; then he climbed to his place, mcglory got in behind, and the car was backed around and glided out through the wide door of the garage. with martin indicating the way, the machine slipped rapidly out of catskill and darted off on the gardenville road. "what sort of clue is taking us to gardenville?" asked martin, as they weaved in and out among the tree-covered hills, catching occasional glimpses of the sparkling waters of the hudson. matt informed martin briefly of tsan ti's predicament and of grattan's persistent attempts to get hold of the ruby. "you think grattan has gone to gardenville to intercept tsan ti?" asked martin. "it would be like grattan," matt answered, "to hire sam wing to steal the ruby from the mandarin. i don't know that grattan has done that, but it would be like him. if he did, then he would travel toward gardenville to pick up sam wing." "this looks too much like guesswork," muttered martin, "and not very bright guesswork, either." "i think the same way, martin; but it's the only clue we have. grattan and bunce certainly had an object in view when they stole the motor car. the theft, happening at the time it did, rather inclines me to think that grattan is beginning a swift campaign to recover the eye of buddha." "since half-past two he has had oceans of time to reach gardenville and pick up sam wing and the ruby--if that was his game." "exactly," returned matt. "i was telling you the same thing back at the hotel. what sort of a car was it that was stolen?" "it was a blue car, six cylinder, and had a tonneau and top. it belonged to a man from new york. he's been telegraphing and telephoning all through the mountains. if the thieves didn't get away last night, they'll have a hard time doing it to-day." matt was watching the road. it was a popular highway for motor-car owners, and the surface bore evidence of the passage of many pneumatic tires. half a dozen cars passed them, going the other way, and inquiries were made as to the blue car. the stolen automobile had not been seen or heard of. at least two of the passing drivers had come from gardenville, and their failure to have seen anything of the stolen machine promised ill for the success of the pursuers when they should reach their destination. "i guess i'm up against it, all right," growled martin. "this grattan is a clever scoundrel, and he'll know what to do to keep from getting captured." "what's that place ahead there?" asked matt. what he saw was a spot where the road curved a little to one side in a valley between two hills. there were two or three hitching posts planted beside the road, and from one of the posts swung a tin bucket. "that's a spring," said martin, "and it furnishes ice-cold water in the very hottest part of the summer. people stop there to water their horses--and to get a drink themselves if they're thirsty." "let's stop, pard," called mcglory, from the tonneau. "i'm dryer than a sand pile and my throat's full of dust." "we're only three miles from gardenville," spoke up martin, his words significant of the fact that there would be plenty of drinking water to be had in the town without delaying the journey at the spring. "we'll only be a minute," said matt, swerving to the side of the road and bringing the car to a halt. all three jumped out, and martin led the way to a small pool, shaded by overhanging trees. from beyond the pool came a tinkle of falling water. "horses are watered from this basin," remarked martin. "the water falls from the rocks, farther on, and we'll find a cup there." a well-worn path followed the rill that supplied the pool, and the three continued onward along the path in single file. half a dozen yards brought them to the rocky side hill where the water welled from a crack in the granite and fell in a miniature cataract to a bowl-shaped depression at the foot of the wall. a man was standing beside the spring when martin, matt, and mcglory emerged from the tangle of brush and vines. the man was just lifting himself erect after filling a tin cup that was chained to the rocks. startled into inaction, the man stood staring at the three newcomers, the filled cup in his hand. the surprise, it may be observed, was mutual. the man by the spring was a chinaman--a lean, hatchet-faced individual whose blouse and baggy trousers gave evidence of rough work in the undergrowth. "sam wing!" yelled mcglory. yes, it was the treacherous celestial, there was not the slightest doubt about that. simultaneously with his shout, mcglory leaped forward, closely followed by matt. sam wing awoke to his peril not a second too soon. casting the cup of water full in the cowboy's face, the chinaman gave vent to a defiant yell, whirled, and vanished among the trees. mcglory sputtered wrathfully as he shook the water out of his eyes. matt bounded on in frantic pursuit of the fugitive. "come back!" cried martin, thinking of nothing but the stolen car. "what's the use of chasing the chink?" "you freeze to the automobile, martin," the cowboy paused to answer. "matt and i will put the kibosh on this yellow grafter and then we'll rejoin you. we'll not be gone long." the words faded in a rattle and crash of violently disturbed bushes, and mcglory had vanished along his chum's trail. chapter vi. m'glory is lost--and found. this unexpected encounter with sam wing was certainly a "hot starter" in the matter of the stolen ruby, although of apparently small consequence in the matter of the stolen car. but motor matt was not particular as to which end of the double thread fortune wafted his way. he followed sam wing just as zealously as he would have followed philo grattan, had it been the white thief instead of the yellow who had fled from the spring. the cold spring water had run down the cowboy's face, under his collar, and had glued his shirt to his wet skin. "speak to me about that!" he breathed angrily, as he labored on. "if the rat-eater hadn't slammed that water into my face, i'd have had him by his yellow throat in a brace of shakes! wow, but it's cold! i feel as though i was hugging an iceberg. where's matt?" mcglory had not seen his chum since he had plunged into the bushes, but had followed blindly in a course he believed to be the right one, trying only to see how much ground he could cover. now, realizing suddenly that he might be on the wrong track, the cowboy halted, peered around him, and listened intently. the timber was thick and the bushes dense on every side. there were no sounds in any direction even remotely suggesting the chinaman's flight and matt's pursuit. "i'm off my bearings and no mistake," reflected the cowboy, searching the ground in vain for some signs of the course taken by sam wing and matt. "matt will have a time overhauling the chink in this chaparral, and the two of us are needed. but which way am i to go?" mcglory had been hurrying along the side hill that edged the valley and the road. he swept his eyes across the narrow valley, and then up the slope toward the top of the hill. "it's a cinch," he ruminated, "that sam wing wouldn't go near the trail, but would do his level best to get as far away from it as he could. that means, if i'm any guesser, that he climbed the hill and tried to lose himself beyond. me for the other side," and the cowboy began pawing and scrambling up the steep slope. ten minutes of hard work brought him to the crest, and here again he halted to peer anxiously around and to listen. he could neither hear nor see anything that gave him a line on matt and the chinaman. "whoop-ya!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "matt! where are you, pard?" a jaybird mocked him from somewhere in the timber, and a frightened hawk took wing and soared skyward. "blamed if this ain't real excitin'!" growled the cowboy. "i'm going to do something to help lay that yellow tinhorn by the heels, though, and you can paste that in your hat. if matt came over the hill, then it stands to reason he went down on this other side. i'll keep on, by guess and by gosh, and maybe something will happen." mcglory kept on for half an hour, floundering through the bushes, making splendid time in his slide to the foot of the hill, and from there striking out on an erratic course that carried him toward all points of the compass. he climbed rocky hills and descended them, he followed ravines, and he sprinted across narrow levels, yelling for matt from time to time, but receiving no answer. then he discovered that something had happened--and that he was lost. trying to locate himself by the position of the sun, he endeavored to return to the road. instead of calling for matt, he now began whooping it up for martin. the sun appeared to be in the wrong place, and the road and the spring had vanished. the farther mcglory went, the more confused and bewildered he became. at last he dropped down on a bowlder and panted out his chagrin and disgust. "lost! me, joseph easy mark mcglory, arizona puncher and boss trailer of the deserts and the foothills! lost, plumb tangled up in my bearings, clean gone off the jump--and in this two-by-twice range of toy mountains where rip van winkle snoozed for twenty years. i wonder if rip was as tired as i am when he laid down to snatch his forty winks. sufferin' tenderfoot! i've walked far enough to carry me plumb to albany, if it had all been in a straight line. matt!" and again he lifted his voice. "martin!" the lusty yell echoed and reverberated through the surrounding woods, but brought no answer. then, suddenly, the cowboy was seized from behind by a pair of stout arms, pulled backward off the bowlder, and flattened out on the ground by a heavy knee on his chest. it had all happened so quickly that mcglory was dazed. he was a moment or two in recovering his wits and in recognizing the sinister face and mocking eyes that bent down over him. "grattan!" he gasped. "ay, messmate," gibed a voice from near at hand; "grattan and bunce. don't forget bunce." the cowboy turned his head and saw the sailor. the green patch decorated one of the sailor's eyes, but the other eye taunted the luckless prisoner with an exultant gleam. mcglory struggled desperately under grattan's hands. "stop it!" ordered grattan. as mcglory had made no headway with his frantic struggles, he decided to obey the command. "what are you doing out here in the woods?" inquired grattan. "ease up on that throat a little," wheezed the cowboy. "want to take the breath all out of me?" the thief's fingers relaxed slightly. "i left the road a spell ago," proceeded mcglory, "and went wide of my bearings somewhere--i don't know just where." "lost, eh?" laughed grattan. "well, my lad, you've been found." "how did you happen to find me?" "how?" jeered bunce. "you was makin' more noise than a foghorn. the way you was askin' motor matt for help, it's a wonder they didn't hear you in catskill." "tie his hands with something, bunce," said grattan. bunce looked taken aback for a space, then whipped his knife laniard from about his neck, removed the knife, doubled the cord, and contrived a lashing that was strong enough to answer the purpose. grattan heaved the cowboy over upon his face and pulled his wrists behind him. in less than a minute the cord was in place, and the prisoner was freed of grattan's gripping hands and allowed to sit up, his back against the bowlder. "this meeting," grinned grattan, "was entirely unexpected, and a pleasant surprise." "a pleasant surprise for you, i reckon," grunted mcglory. "what did you jump onto me for like this? what good is it going to do you?" "what benefit i am to derive from this encounter," replied grattan, "remains to be seen. tell me, my lad, are you and motor matt looking for tsan ti?" an angry denial was on the cowboy's lips, but he thought better of the words before they were spoken. "never you mind who we're looking for, grattan," said he. "it's for tsan ti, i am sure," went on grattan. "he's somewhere in this section, for he left gardenville on foot, early this morning, preceded by his man, sam wing. i don't know exactly what's up, but i'm rather inclined to think that the mandarin is afraid of me, and is trying to get back to catskill and place himself under the wing of his estimable protector, motor matt. you and matt heard he was coming and advanced to meet him. the same man who told me the fat chinaman was in the hills must have given you boys the same information." "who was the _hombre_, grattan?" queried mcglory, secretly delighted to think grattan's speculations were so wide of the mark. "a man in a white runabout with a red torpedo beard." "i wouldn't know a red torpedo beard from a piute's scalplock, but i do recollect a shuffer in a white car." this white runabout was one of the cars matt, martin, and mcglory had passed on the road, and the driver was one of those of whom they had made inquiries. the inquiries, of course, had been all about the stolen automobile and not about the fat chinaman. if grattan had been in the stolen car when asking the man in the white runabout for news of tsan ti, then why hadn't the runabout driver remembered the blue car and told matt something about it? "where were you," went on the cowboy, "when you hailed the man in the white car?" "on foot, by the spring," answered grattan genially. he was an educated man and usually good-natured--sometimes under the most adverse circumstances. that was his way, perhaps on the principle that an easy manner is best calculated to disarm suspicion. "where was the car you and bunce stole from the catskill garage?" asked the cowboy. "we tucked it away in a pocket of the hills that my friend pardo knew about," explained grattan, tacitly admitting the theft and, in his customary fashion, not hesitating to go elaborately into details. "we failed to finish the work that took us to gardenville last night. when we learned at the railroad station in that town that the fat chinaman had started south on foot, about break of day, following another of his countrymen, we rushed the car back into an obscure place. it is not advisable, you understand, to make that car too prominent. we shall have to use it by night. bunce and i rode to the spring on our motor cycles for the purpose of watching the road. the white runabout came along, and the driver told us, he had passed tsan ti, walking this way. we waited for him to pass the spring, but he did not. thinking he had taken to the rough country, bunce and i returned our wheels to the place where we have pitched temporary camp and began prowling around in the hope of finding the mandarin. then, quite unexpectedly, i assure you, we heard you calling. we came to this place, guided by the sound of your voice. you know the rest, and----" grattan bit off his words abruptly. from a distance came a hail, so far off as to be almost indistinguishable. "motor matt!" exclaimed grattan, with a laugh. "he's looking for you, mcglory. if this keeps up, we're going to have quite a reunion. put a hand over his lips, bunce," he added to the sailor. mcglory tried to give a desperate yell before the hand closed over his mouth, but he was not quick enough. grattan, leaning against the bowlder, threw back his head and answered the distant call. the voice in the woods drew closer and closer. "call again, excellent one!" came the weary voice from the scrub. "i heard you shouting some time ago, and you were calling the name of an esteemed friend for whom i am looking. speak loudly to me, so that i may come where you are." the three by the bowlder were astounded. "tsan ti," muttered grattan, "or i don't know the voice. luck, bunce! whoever thought this could happen? the mandarin heard mcglory calling for motor matt--and now the mandarin is looking for mcglory and is going to find _us_." a chuckle came with the words. "lie low, bunce, and watch mcglory. leave the trapping of tsan ti to me." chapter vii. "pocketed." for the cowboy pleasant fancies were cropping out of this surprising turn of events. he reflected that grattan did not know sam wing had stolen the ruby from tsan ti. by entrapping tsan ti, grattan was undoubtedly counting upon getting hold of the eye of buddha. if bunce had known how little love mcglory had for the mandarin, he would not have been at so much pains to keep a hand over his lips. just at that moment nothing could have induced the cowboy to shout a warning to the approaching chinaman. kneeling behind the bowlder, grattan lifted his voice for tsan ti's benefit. presently the mandarin was decoyed around the side of the bowlder, and his capture expeditiously effected. he was a badly demoralized chinaman. his usually immaculate person had been eclipsed by recent hardships, and he was tattered and torn and liberally sprinkled with dust. his flabby cheeks were covered with red splotches where thorny undergrowth had left its mark. he was so fagged, too, that he could hardly stand. at the merest touch from grattan he tumbled over. a most melancholy spectacle he presented as he sat on the ground and stared at grattan with jaws agape. "oh, friend of my friend," wheezed tsan ti, passing his gaze to mcglory, "was it you who shouted?" "first off it was," answered mcglory; "after that, grattan took it up." "and you are a prisoner?" "i wouldn't be here if i wasn't." "i'm the man for you to talk to, tsan ti," put in grattan grimly. "it's me you're to reckon with." "evil individual," answered the mandarin, "my capture will not help you in your rascally purposes. is not my present distress sufficient, without any of your unwelcome attentions? behold my plight! what more can you do to make me miserable?" "i can take the ruby away from you, for one thing." a mirthless smile crossed the mandarin's fat face. a chuckle escaped mcglory. grattan stared hard at the chinaman, and then flashed a quick glance at the cowboy. "what are you thinking of, mcglory?" he demanded. "i'm thinking that you're fooled again, grattan," answered mcglory. "you know so much that i wonder you haven't heard that the mandarin has lost the ruby." "lost it?" a look of consternation crossed grattan's face. "i'll never believe that," he went on. "tsan ti knows where the eye of buddha is, and there are ways to make him tell me." "ay, ay," flared bunce, with a fierce look, "we'll make him tell if we have to lash him to a tree and flog the truth out o' him." "wretches," said the mandarin, "no matter what your hard thoughts may counsel, or your wicked hands contrive, you cannot make me tell what i do not know." grattan would not trust bunce to search the mandarin, but proceeded about the work himself. two chopsticks, a silver cigarette box, an ivory case with matches, a bone-handled back scratcher, a handkerchief, a fan, and a yellow cord some three feet long were the results of the search. there was no ruby. grattan prodded a knife blade into tsan ti's thick queue in his search for the gem, and even ripped out the lining of his sandals, but uselessly. "you know where the ruby is," scowled grattan, giving way to more wrath than mcglory had ever seen him show before; "and, by heaven, i'll make you tell before i'm done with you." tossing the yellow cord to bunce, grattan drew back and ordered the sailor to secure the mandarin's hands in the same way he had lashed the cowboy's. tsan ti seemed to accept the situation philosophically. but that he was in desperate straits and hopeless was evidenced by his remark when bunce was done with the tying: "despicable person, i had rather you put the yellow cord about my throat than around my wrists." "you'll get it around the throat when we get back to the pocket," said grattan brutally. "take charge of mcglory, bunce," he added, "and come with me." tsan ti was ordered to his feet. thereupon, grattan seized his arm and pulled him along through the woods. mcglory would have given something handsome if he could have had the use of his hands for about a minute. bunce would have been an easy problem for him to solve if he had not been hampered by the knife laniard. as it was, however, the cowboy was forced to get to his feet and, with the sailor as guard, follow after grattan and tsan ti. captors and captives traveled for nearly a mile through uneven country, thick with timber, then descended into a ravine, followed it a little way beyond a point where it was crossed by a wagon road, and came to a niche in the gully wall. perhaps the term "cavern" would better describe the place where grattan, pardo, and bunce had pitched their temporary camp. the hole was an ancient washout, its face covered with a screen of brush and creepers. in front of the niche, standing in a place where it had been backed from the road on the "reverse," was the blue automobile. leaning against the automobile were the two motor cycles; and from the tonneau of the car, as grattan and bunce approached with their prisoners, arose the form of pardo. "well, well!" exclaimed pardo, thrusting his head out from under the top. "if we haven't got visitors! where did you pick up the mandarin, grattan?" "between here and the gardenville road," answered grattan. "it was easy work. both the chink and the cowboy were kind enough to yell and tell us where they were." pardo, understanding little of what had really occurred, opened his eyes wide. "tell me more about it," said he. "after i get the prisoners in the pocket. bunce, bring a rope. hold mcglory, pardo, while he's doing it." pardo jumped down from the automobile and caught the cowboy's arm. "i guess you're a heap easier to deal with than your friend, motor matt," was his comment. "no guess about it," said mcglory, "it's a cinch. but i'm not fretting any." the cowboy's eyes were on the stolen car. what a pleasure it would have been to snatch that automobile out of grattan's clutches, leaving him and his rascally companions stranded in the hills! but that was a dream--and mcglory had already had too many dreams for his peace of mind. tsan ti was shoved by grattan through the bushes, under the trailing vines and into the washout. pardo dragged mcglory through, close on their heels. "sit down, both of you," ordered grattan, when the prisoners were in the gloomy confines of the niche. tsan ti and mcglory lowered themselves to the bare earthen floor. bunce came with the rope, and it was coiled around the cowboy's ankles, and then around the mandarin's. "i've taken you in, mcglory," observed grattan, to the cowboy, "for the purpose of finding out what motor matt is doing; and i've captured the mandarin with the idea of getting the ruby. i'm a man who hews steadily to the line, once he marks it out. i'll have my way with both of you before i am done. mark that. you can't get away from here. even if you were not bound hand and foot, you'd have to pass the automobile in order to reach the road--and pardo, bunce, and i will be in the automobile. we're all heeled, which is a point you will do well to remember." having eased his mind in this manner, grattan went out of the niche, bunce and pardo following him. they could be heard climbing into the automobile, and then their low voices came in a mumble to the ears of the prisoners. "fated friend," gulped the mandarin, "the ten thousand demons of misfortune are working sad havoc with tsan ti." "buck up!" returned mcglory. "we're pocketed, all right, but matters might be worse." "what cheering thoughts can i possibly have?" mourned the mandarin. "the eye of buddha has escaped me, gone i do not know where, in the possession of that canton dog, sam wing, who----" "hist!" breathed mcglory, in a warning voice. "grattan doesn't know who has the ruby, and it may be a good thing if we keep it to ourselves. don't lose your nerve. motor matt is around, and you can count on him to do something." "motor matt is both notable and energetic," droned the mandarin, "but for him to secure the ruby from sam wing is too much to hope for." "there you're shy a few, tsan ti. i'll bet my scalp against that queue of yours that matt has already captured sam wing and recovered the eye of buddha." tsan ti stirred restlessly. "do not deceive me with hope, honorable friend," he begged. "well, listen," and mcglory proceeded to tell tsan ti what had happened at the spring. tsan ti's hopes arose. he had been ready to grasp at anything, and here mcglory had offered him undreamed-of encouragement. "there are many brilliant eyes in the plumage of the sacred peacock," he murmured, "but by them all, i vow to you that there is no other youth of such accomplishments as motor matt. and, by the five hundred gods of the temple at----" "cut it out," grunted mcglory. "you've got matt and me into no end of trouble with your foolishness. when you get that ruby into your hands again, stop fumbling with it. pass it over to some one who knows how to look after it, but don't try the job yourself. this is first-chop pidgin i'm giving you, tsan ti, and i don't know why i'm handing it out, after the way you hocused my pard and me with that piece of red glass. but it's good advice, for all that, and you'd better keep it under your little black cap." tsan ti relapsed into thoughtful silence. the mumble of voices continued to creep in through the swinging vines and the bush tops, but otherwise the quiet that filled the "pocket" was intense. the mandarin was first to speak. leaning toward the cowboy, he whispered: "there's a chance, companion of my distress, that we may be able to make our escape." "what's the number?" queried the cowboy. thereupon the mandarin began revealing the plan that had formed in his mind. it was the fruit of considerable reflection and promised well. chapter viii. springing a "coup." stripped of its ornamental trimmings, the mandarin's plan was marvelously simple. mcglory was to roll over with his back to him, and he engaged to gnaw through the knife laniard. when the cowboy's hands were free it would be only a few moments until he removed the ropes from his ankles and set tsan ti at liberty. this accomplished, mcglory was to set up a racket, calling grattan, bunce, and pardo into the pocket. as they crashed through the brush in one direction, the mandarin would crash through it in another, reach the motor cycles, and rush away on one before grattan or his companions had an opportunity to use their firearms. "h'm," reflected mcglory. "that's a bully plan, tsan ti--for you. you're the boy to look out for number one, eh? this surprise party you're thinking of springing reminds me of the way you unloaded that imitation ruby on motor matt, and then sat back and allowed matt and me to play tag with grattan." "what is the fault with my plan, generous sir?" asked the mandarin. "of course," went on the cowboy, with fine sarcasm, "i don't amount to much. i kick up a disturbance in here, and when grattan, pardo, and bunce rush in on me, you make a run for one of the motor cycles. in other words, i hold the centre of the stage and make things interesting for the three tinhorns while you burn the air on a benzine bike and get as far outdoors as you can. fine!" "pardon, exalted friend," demurred tsan ti, "but you overlook the point that i will be pursued." "i don't think i overlook a blessed point, tsan ti. but just answer me this: what's the good of escaping? grattan will have to let us go sooner or later. if we put up with these uncomfortable ropes for a spell, we'll both get clear and without running the risk of stopping a bullet." "accept my excuses, noble youth, and please remember grattan made some remarks about choking me with the cord in case i did not reveal the whereabouts of the ruby. that would not be pleasant." "sufferin' stranglers!" exclaimed mcglory; "i'd forgotten about that. can't say that i blame you for thinking twice for yourself and once for me. i'll help on the game." the cowboy rolled over with his back to the mandarin. "now get busy with your teeth," he added, "and be in a rush. there's no telling when the pallavering outside will be over with, and if those fellows get through before we do, the kibosh will be on us and not on them." the logic of this last remark was not lost upon the mandarin. he grunted and wheezed and used his teeth with frantic energy. while he panted and labored, both he and the cowboy kept their ears sharp for the mumble of talk going on outside. fortunately for the _coup_ the prisoners were intending to spring, the talk continued unabated. the laniard was gnawed in half, and mcglory sat up, brought his hands around in front of him, and rubbed the places where the mandarin's sharp teeth had slipped from the cord. "you've turned part of the trick, tsan ti," commended the cowboy; "now watch me do my share." with his pocket knife he slashed through the coil that held his feet, and he would then have treated the yellow cord about the mandarin's wrists in like manner had he not been stopped by a quick word. "the yellow cord, illustrious one," said the chinaman, "must be untied. it is a present from his imperial highness, my regent, and i may yet be obliged to use it in the customary way." "oh, hang your regent!" grumbled mcglory, but yielded to the mandarin's request and began untying the cord with his fingers. this was slow work, for mcglory's fingers were still numb from the effects of his own bonds. in due course, however, the cord was removed, and the chinaman lifted himself to a sitting posture. the cowboy used the knife on the rope that secured tsan ti's feet, while the latter was solicitously coiling up the yard of yellow cord and putting it away in his pocket. "now, courageous friend," whispered the mandarin, getting up noiselessly and stepping to the swinging green barrier at the mouth of the niche, "we are ready." "you know how to manage a motor cycle?" queried mcglory, suddenly stifling the roar that was almost on his lips. "excellently well, superlative one." "then good luck to you. here goes." above the fearsome commotion mcglory made, the words "help!" and "hurry!" might have been distinguished. startled exclamations came from the automobile, followed by a sound of scrambling as the three thieves tumbled out. then there was a crashing among the bushes and the vines, and mcglory rolled back at full length and shoved his unbound hands under him. "what's the matter?" cried grattan, who was first to enter the pocket. "mandarin tried to knife me!" whooped mcglory. "why didn't you take his knife away from him? i might have been sent over the one-way trail if i hadn't yelled." all three of the men were in the niche by that time. "where is the chink?" shouted grattan. the poppety-pop-pop of a motor in quick action came from without. "he's tripped his anchor and is makin' off!" yelled bunce. "stop him!" fumed grattan, and instantly he followed bunce and pardo back through the swinging screen of vines and bushes. chuckling with delight, mcglory leaped erect, sprang to the vines, and parted them so he could look out. tsan ti, his motor working splendidly, was streaking down the ravine toward the road. bunce, who had led in the rush from the pocket, had mounted the other motor cycle and was coaxing his engine into action with the pedal. "catch him, bunce!" bellowed grattan. bunce's answer was lost in a series of explosions as his motor got to work. as he whirled away, grattan and pardo ran after him to watch the pursuit as long as possible. and thus it chanced that good luck came mcglory's way, after all. he had pretended, when grattan and the other two came into the pocket, that he was tied, and the excitement following bunce's discovery that the mandarin was escaping prevented any examination of the cowboy's bonds. now mcglory had the neighborhood of the pocket to himself, and within a dozen feet of where he stood was the blue touring car, unguarded! a daring plan rushed through the cowboy's head. why not crank up the automobile's engine and rush down the ravine? there was a chance that he could reach the road. if grattan or pardo got in his way, he could run them down; if they drew off to one side and fired at him, he could trust to luck. "nothing venture, nothing win!" muttered the reckless cowboy, and pushed through the vines and bushes and jumped for the front of the car. an angle of the ravine hid grattan and pardo. one look made mcglory certain on this point, and another look showed him the rough surface which the automobile had to get over. there was a fine chance to blow up a tire or come to grief against a jutting rock, but the cowboy had staked everything on a single throw, and he was not to be frightened by difficulties. he gave the crank a couple of turns, and the engine answered with a fierce sputter and an increasing rattle of explosions. that sound, if grattan and pardo were near enough to hear, advertised plainly what mcglory was about. he lost not a moment in scrambling into the driver's seat and getting the car to going. the automobile started with a jump, and lurched and swayed over the uneven ground like a ship in a storm. bending to the steering wheel, mcglory nursed the car onward with the spark. the machine rounded the turn. the road was in plain view--but so were grattan and pardo. consternation was written large in the faces of the two thieves. the car was being hurled toward them, plunging and buck-jumping as it met the high places, and the two men had to throw themselves sideways to clear the path. "stop!" roared grattan, drawing a revolver. mcglory's answer was a defiant yell. as the car rushed by pardo he made a jump for it--and was knocked roughly back toward the ravine wall. _bang!_ that was grattan's weapon, echoing high about the racket of the unmuffled motor. something ripped through the rear of the top and crooned its wicked song within an inch of mcglory's head. but the cowboy laughed. he hadn't blown up a tire or smashed any of the machinery, he was turning into the road, and grattan and pardo were behind him! "we've knocked the hoodoo galley west!" mcglory exulted. "oh, what do you think of this! _what_ do you think of it!" and he let the sixty champing horses under the bonnet snatch him along the road at their best clip. chapter ix. motor matt's chase. meanwhile, the king of the motor boys, without the remotest idea as to what was happening to his cowboy pard, was exacting his own tribute from the realm of exciting events. when he started after sam wing, matt had no time to give to any one else. he supposed that mcglory was following him, but was altogether too busy to look behind and make sure. it was a trifling matter, anyhow. the main thing was to catch sam wing, and matt threw himself into the pursuit with ardor. mcglory, it will be remembered, had worked upon the theory that the chinaman, eager to get as far from the road as possible, had gone over the hill. but this was incorrect. sam wing hustled along the hillside slope, his course paralleling the valley and the road. very early in the chase the chinaman lost his grass sandals, and a little later his stockings, but loss of his footwear seemed to help rather than diminish his speed. motor matt was "no slouch" as a long-distance runner, but sam wing proved a handful for him. from time to time matt would gain, coming so close to the hustling celestial that he shouted a call for him to stop, but the chinaman, gathering himself together for a spurt, ducked away to his usual lead, and the chase went merrily on. once matt nearly had him. a section of treacherous bank broke away under sam wing's feet, and the pursued man flung up his arms and dropped straight downward. matt paused on the brink and looked below for three or four yards to a little shelf gouged from the bankside. sam wing, scarred and apparently senseless, was lying sprawled on the shelf. matt slipped and slid downward, fairly certain that he was at the end of his exciting trail; but, just as his feet struck the shelf, the chinaman rolled over the edge and carromed away in a break-neck descent that finally plunged him into the road. this was the identical road that led past the spring, and matt and sam wing were somewhere between the spring and gardenville. where martin was with the automobile, matt did not know, but if martin had been at that point in the road when the chinaman rolled into it, an easy capture could have been made. there was some one in the road besides sam wing, however, and the traveler was an old colored man, riding toward gardenville on a mule. the mule and the colored man were about a hundred feet away from wing when he got to his feet. as soon as the chinaman's eyes rested on the long-eared brute and its aged rider, he started at speed in their direction. matt jumped into the road with less than twenty-five feet between himself and sam wing. once more he deceived himself with the idea that the chase was narrowing to a close. the mule, throwing its head and swinging its long ears, was ambling leisurely along the way. the old darky appeared to be in a doze. matt, divining sam wing's intentions, gave vent to a warning yell. the darky aroused himself and flung a look over his shoulder. but it was too late, for wing had already grabbed him by one of his dangling feet. another moment and the negro had been roughly pulled into the road. wing scrambled to the mule's back and dug into the animal with his naked heels. probably the mule was as startled as his former rider, for he broke into a lumbering lope. the chase, just then, took on a hopeless outlook for motor matt. if martin had only happened along in the automobile, the fleeing chinaman could have been brought up with a round turn, but matt, with only his feet under him, could not hope to overtake the galloping mule. the darky, as matt came up with him, was gathering in his ragged hat and climbing to an upright position. he wore a look of puzzled astonishment. "ain't dat scan'lous?" he cried. "ah done been slammed into de road by er chinymum! en he's got mah mu-el! he's er runnin' erway wif mah gin'ral jackson mu-el. by golly, whaffur kind ob way is dat tuh treat an ole moke lak me?" "it was pretty rough, uncle, and that's a fact," replied matt, smothering an inclination to laugh at the ludicrous picture the old negro presented. "if we had another mule, i could catch the rascal, but it is too much of a job for me with nothing to ride." "you chasin' dat 'ar chinymum, boss?" inquired the darky. "yes." "has he been up tuh somefin' dat he hadn't ort?" "he has." "den yo' lis'en heah, chile," and a slow grin crept over the wizened, ebony face of the negro. "erbout er mile ahead dar's a bridge ovah a creek, en dat 'ar chinyman ain't gwine tuh ride gin'ral jackson ovah dat bridge." "why not?" "'case dat fool mu-el won't cross no bridge if yo' doan' cotch his off eah en give hit a pull. mu-els is mouty queer daterway, en gin'ral jackson is a heap queerer dan any othah mu-el yo' most evah see. he's skeered ob a bridge, en pullin' his off eah done takes his min' off'n de bridge, lak, en he goes ovah wifout mistrustin'. now, dat yalluh chinymum trash doan' know dat, en ef he try to mek gin'ral jackson cross de bridge wifout pullin' his off eah, dar's suah gwine to be doin's, en----" just at that moment a boy came along on a bicycle. he was evidently making a long journey, for he had a bag strapped to the handle bars. "wait a minute!" called matt to the boy. the bicycle halted, and the lad rested one foot on the ground and looked inquiringly at matt. "i wish you'd lend me your wheel for a few minutes," said matt. "a chinaman just stole this old darky's mule, and i believe i can overhaul the thief if you'll let me take your bicycle." "gee!" exclaimed the boy. "how much of a start has the chinaman got?" "about three minutes. the darky says there's a bridge a mile ahead, and that the mule won't cross the bridge unless he's coaxed. perhaps i can come up with the thief at the bridge." "there you are," said the stranger generously, getting out of the saddle and holding the wheel for matt. "much obliged," returned matt. "you and the darky come on to the bridge, and perhaps you'll find me rounding up the mule and the chinaman." "we'll do it," was the answer. matt mounted easily, thrust his toes into the toe clips, and got under way. when he turned an angle of the road, and vanished behind a screen of timber, he was going like a steam engine. it had been a long time since matt had ridden an ordinary bicycle, but he had by no means forgotten the knack. he was not long in coming within sight of the bridge, and there, sure enough, were the chinaman and the mule at the bridge approach. the chinaman was having trouble. general jackson would not cross the bridge, and he was braced back, immovable as the rock of gibraltar. sam wing was using his heels and the flat of his hand in a furious attempt to force the brute onward. general jackson did not budge an inch, but, from the way he wagged his ears, it was evident that his wrath was growing. matt remained silent and bent to the pedals. while sam wing was busy urging the mule, matt was planning to come alongside and treat the celestial as he had treated the old negro. this design might have been successfully executed had not general jackson interfered with it. the mule's temper suddenly gave way under the rain of kicks and blows, and he put his head down between his forelegs and hoisted the rear half of his body into the air. the manoeuvre was as sudden as it was unexpected, and sam wing went rocketing into space. the bridge was merely a plank affair, without any guard rails at the sides, and after the chinaman had done a couple of somersaults in the air he landed with a thump on the bridge, close to the unprotected edge. he started to struggle upright, and the hurried movement caused him to slip over the brink. he vanished from before matt's eyes just as he had disappeared from the caving bank--there was a flutter, a yell, a splash, and sam wing was gone. matt threw on the brake, jumped from the wheel, and, after leaning the machine against a tree, rushed to the bridge. the creek was narrow, but seemed to be deep, and the chinaman was floating down with the current. there was no time for matt to linger and explain events to the bicyclist and the negro. each would recover his property, however, and that ought to satisfy both of them. springing from the bridge approach, matt hurried down the bank of the little stream. the chinaman, the king of the motor boys thought, must have been made of india rubber to bear so well the series of mishaps that had come his way. he came out of every one with astonishing ability to keep up his flight. matt's rush down the creek bank was not continued for long. sam wing saw him and made haste to effect a landing on the opposite bank. he emerged, a dripping and forlorn spectacle, and left a damp trail up the bank and into the woods. matt did not care to swim the creek in his clothes, and a tree, fallen partly over the stream, afforded him an opportunity to cross dry-shod. the tree was not a large one, and there was a gap of water at the end of it, where the trunk had been splintered and broken away. with a clear, steady brain and sure feet the king of the motor boys passed to the end of his swaying, insecure bridge; then, with a leap, he cleared the stretch of water and landed on the bank. the force he had put into the jump displaced the tree and caused it to tumble into the creek. it had served its purpose, however, and matt, without a backward look, tore away along the watery trail of the chinaman. chapter x. the chase concluded. when matt came near enough to see sam wing, it seemed plain that the celestial was yielding to the "blows of circumstance." his flight dragged. time and time again he cast a wild look over his shoulder at the relentless pursuer, and tried in vain to increase his pace. his random course crossed a road through the timber with a line of telegraph or telephone poles on one side of it. after a moment's hesitation, sam wing chose the road. it was easier going, no doubt, and for that reason probably appealed to him in his fagged condition. but if it was easier for sam wing, so was it for matt. now, at last, the eventful chase was certainly approaching its finish. as the pursuit went on, matt resolutely closing up the gap between him and the chinaman, the timber suddenly broke away to give a view of a farmhouse and a barn. between the house and barn stood a farmer with a rake. sam wing, at the end of his rope and apparently determined on making a last desperate stand, swerved from the road and ran in the direction of the barn. "hi, there!" shouted matt, waving his arms to attract the attention of the farmer, "head him off!" it was not difficult for the farmer to understand enough of the situation to make him useful in the emergency, and he started energetically to do what he could. swinging the rake around his head, he hurried toward a point which would intersect the path of the chinaman. sam wing, even though he was weary and almost spent, continued "game." a small, v-shaped hencoop stood close to the point where he halted and confronted the farmer. "by jerry," threatened the farmer, "yew stop! don't yew try no shenanigin with me, or i'll comb out your pigtail with this here rake. what yew---gosh-all-hemlocks!" it was absolutely necessary for sam wing to do something if he did not want to be trapped between the farmer in front and matt, who was hurrying up behind. calling upon all his strength, wing stooped, grabbed the small coop, and hurled it at the farmer's legs. the coop struck the farmer's shins and doubled his lank frame up like a closed jackknife. he went down, rake and all, and wing passed around him and lumbered on toward the open barn door. the farmer's ire was aroused. getting up on his knees, he began calling, at the top of his lungs: "tige! here, tige!" tige, a brindled bulldog, came scurrying from the direction of the house. "take 'im, tige!" bellowed the farmer, pointing toward sam wing with the rake. the chinaman's waterloo was close upon him. he had time to give one last frantic look behind, and then tige caught him by the slack of his dripping garments and pulled him down. "don't let the dog hurt him!" yelled matt. "watch 'im, tige!" cried the farmer. "good dorg, tige! watch 'im!" the farmer got up and gave the hencoop a vicious kick. "jee-whillikins, mister," said he, "what's that slant-eyed heathen been up to, hey? he looks like he'd dropped outen a wet rag bag." "he's a thief," answered matt. "he barked my shins somethin' turrible with that hencoop. but yew got him now, an' don't yew fergit it. that tige is the best dorg fer tramps an' sich yew ever seen." together they walked to the place where tige, growling savagely and showing his teeth, was standing over the prone chinaman. sam wing dared not make a move. had he so much as lifted a finger, the bulldog would have been at his throat. "order the dog away," said matt to the farmer. "i want to talk with the chinaman, and we'll take him into the barn where we can both sit down on something and rest a little. we've had a hard chase." the farmer spoke to the dog and the animal slunk away, still keeping his glittering eyes on sam wing. "looks purty meachin', don't he?" muttered the farmer, peering at the prisoner. "he's a bad chinaman," returned matt, "and he knows it. get up, sam wing," he added, "and go into the barn. don't try to do any more running. you haven't strength enough to go far, and it won't be best for you." with wary eyes on the dog, wing got up and moved toward the barn door. when they were all inside, matt took down a coil of rope that swung from a nail and started toward the prisoner. "what yew goin' to do, friend?" asked the farmer. "tie him," replied matt. "that ain't necessary. tige is better'n all the ropes that was ever made. all i got ter do is ter tell him ter watch the heathen, an' yew can bet a pair o' gum boots he'll do it." the farmer spoke to the dog, that had followed them into the barn, and the animal drew close to sam wing and sat down within biting distance. matt, satisfied with the arrangement for the time being, dropped the rope and seated himself on the tongue of a wagon. "sam wing," said the king of the motor boys severely, "you're a mighty bad chinaman." "me savvy," answered wing, whose english was far from being as good as the mandarin's. "you stole the ruby from tsan ti," went on matt. sam wing had strength enough left to show some surprise. "how you savvy?" he inquired. "i know it, and that's enough. you're a treacherous scoundrel to turn against the mandarin as you did." "all same," answered sam wing, in extreme dejection. "ten thousand demons makee heap tlouble fol wing. me plenty solly." "you ought to be sorry. tsan ti trusted you with his money and had a lot of confidence in you. and you betrayed that confidence." sam wing groaned heavily and caressed his numerous bruises. one of his hands finally reached the breast of his torn blouse, and he fished from it a very wet alligator-skin pouch. "here tsan ti's money," said he, offering the pouch to matt. "me velly bad chinaman. you takee money, lettee sam wing go?" "i'll take the money," and matt suited his action to the word, "but i can't let you go until you give up the ruby." "no gottee luby," came the astonishing assertion from sam wing. "you took it from the mandarin, didn't you?" demanded matt. "my takee las' night, no gottee now." "where is it?" "me losee when me makee lun flom spling. no savvy where me losee--p'laps where me makee fall down bank, p'laps on load, p'laps in cleek--no savvy. luby gone, me no gottee eye of buddha." it seemed strange to matt that sam wing could carry the alligator-skin pouch safely through all his varied adventures and yet not be able to retain the most valuable part of his cargo--the part which, presumably, he would take care to stow safely. "don't tell any lies, sam wing!" said matt sternly. "no tellee lie--all same one piecee tluth!" protested the chinaman. "i'll have to make sure of that," went on matt. he searched carefully through the chinaman's torn and waterlogged apparel, but without discovering anything of value--much less the missing gem. "where did you have it?" he asked. sam wing showed him the inside pocket where the ruby had been placed. "where have you been since you took the ruby?" a wave of emotion convulsed the chinaman's features. "evel place," he murmured. "my stay in galdenville one piecee time, makee tly keepee 'way flom tsan ti. bymby me makee lun fol countlee. tsan ti makee see, makee lun, too. my makee hide in hills, foolee tsan ti so he no ketchee. my heap hungly, heap thirsty. findee spling to takee dlink. you come." sam wing shook his head sadly. "you had the ruby when you were at the spring?" inquired matt. the chinaman nodded. "and you lost it while i was chasing you?" another nod. matt, oppressed with what he had heard, and which he felt instinctively was the truth, resumed his seat on the wagon tongue. the ruby might be lying anywhere over the wild course sam wing had taken in his flight. perhaps it was mixed with the loose earth of the side hill where the chinaman had fallen, or it might be under the leaves in the woods, or in the dust of the road, or in the bottom of the creek. of one thing matt was sure, and that was that to retrace the exact line of sam wing's flight would be impossible; and, even if it were possible, finding the red gem would be as difficult as looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. the eye of buddha seemed to be lost irretrievably. this was like to prove a tragic event for tsan ti. it was strange what ill luck had attended upon all in any way connected with the idol's eye; and doubly strange was this final loss of the precious stone. while matt was busily turning the catastrophe over in his mind, the farmer suddenly gave a shout and pointed through the open barn door and along the road. "great sassafrass!" he exclaimed. "i never seen sich a day fer chinamen! look there, will yew?" matt looked, and what he saw staggered him. two motor cycles were coming down the road. bunce was riding one and tsan ti the other. here was another flight and pursuit, for the sailor was pushing hard upon the heels of the mandarin. for only a moment was matt at loss. gathering up the coil of rope which he had taken from the nail in the barn wall, he called to the farmer to watch the prisoner and ran out of the barn and toward the road. chapter xi. a double capture. matt was bewildered by the strange turn events were taking. encountering sam wing at the spring was odd enough, in all truth, and the weird happenings during his pursuit had been as novel as they were thrilling; but here, in a most inexplicable way, came the mandarin and the mariner on motor cycles, wabbling down the road, tsan ti in a panic and bunce aggressive and determined. matt shouted, but the two on the motor cycles were so deeply immersed in their own efforts that they paid no attention to the call. to stop the motor cycles was the first step, and the young motorist went about it in his usual resourceful way. swiftly he secured one end of the rope to a telegraph pole at the side of the road; then, bounding back, he took a turn with the free end of the rope around a convenient tree. hanging to the cable that was to form a blockade for the charging wheels, matt once more gave his attention to bunce and tsan ti. the pursuit of the mandarin had reached a crisis. the sailor had come close enough to reach out and grab the chinaman's flying queue, and he was hauling rearward, pulling the mandarin back until his hands had left the handle bars. "stop!" shouted motor matt, laying back on the end of the rope. the command was useless, for pursuer and pursued were obliged to halt in spite of it. the mandarin's swaying motor cycle was first to hit the rope. before the machine could topple over, bunce crashed into it. there followed a rasping volley of gasoline explosions, a roar from the sailor, and a chattering yell from the mandarin. the two were on the ground, tangled up with each other and with the motor cycles. dropping the rope, matt rushed at the struggling pair, seized bunce by the shoulders, and hauled him out of the mix-up. a revolver had fallen from the sailor's pocket. matt sprang to secure it, and then faced bunce, who was on his knees and staring about him dazedly. "noble friend!" cried the mandarin, carefully extricating his head from the frame of one of the motor cycles, "you have again preserved the wretched tsan ti! the evil personage yonder would presently have caught me!" bunce, having finally decided that the situation was one that boded him no good, started to get up and remove himself from the scene. "i don't believe you'd better leave us just yet, bunce," called matt, waving the revolver. "stay right where you are. this is a complication which you can help the mandarin explain." "by the seven holy spritsails!" muttered bunce, falling back in his original position and looking at matt and then at the farmer. "how, in the name o' davy jones," he cried, his gaze returning to matt, "do you happen to be cruisin' in these waters?" "never mind that, for the present. what i want to know is, where have you and the mandarin come from? and why were you chasing him?" "i have escaped, highly appreciated friend whose kindness is much reciprocated," babbled the mandarin, coming blithely to matt's side and carefully knocking the dust out of his little black cap. "i have made a never-to-be-forgotten escape from the hands of evil-minded enemies. it was your friend from the cattle districts who helped me." so far, all that matt had heard and seen had merely bogged him the more deeply in a mire of misunderstanding. at the mandarin's mention of mcglory, his speculations went off at a wild tangent. "did grattan and bunce capture the other car?" he demanded. "where did you find joe and martin? where are they now? what's happened to them?" "peace, distinguished youth," said the mandarin, putting on his cap and fluttering his hand reassuringly. "i know nothing about any car except the blue one by the pocket." "blue car? did you see a blue car?" "even so, my amazed friend. and beside the blue car leaned those go-devil bicycles. mcglory--faithful assistant in my time of need--helped me beguile grattan, pardo, and bunce into the pocket, whereupon i secured one of the go-devil machines and fled swiftly. the one-eyed sailor followed. which way we came i do not know. wherever i saw another road i turned into it. how long we raced is too much for my disturbed faculties to understand. we went, and went, and at last we were here, and i found you! oh, loyal defender of the most wretched of mandarins, to you i owe my peace, my happiness, and my life! may the six thousand peri of the land of enchantment afford you joy in the life to come!" "well, by gum!" muttered the wide-eyed farmer, shifting his rake to the other hand and rubbing a palm against his forehead. "i never seen a heathen that could talk like that before. some remarkable now, ain't it?" matt was too deeply concerned with what tsan ti had said to pay much attention to the farmer. he kept his watchful eyes on bunce, however, while seeking to get deeper into the perplexing situation that so suddenly confronted him. "let's begin at the beginning, tsan ti," said he, "and try and smooth out the knots of this amazing tangle with some sort of system. mcglory and i received your telegram. what happened to you after sam wing stole the ruby?" "i awoke from my dreams in great fright, inquiring friend," responded the mandarin, "and found the ruby gone, and sam wing gone. there was but one thing for me to think, and i thought it. the train was at a station, and i jumped from the steps. i looked for sam wing, but he had vanished; then i sent my telegram and waited until you might arrive. in the gray dawn that came into the east, i saw sam wing suddenly flash by the open door of the railroad station. i shouted and ran after him, but he evaded me. ah, the dreary heart-sickness in my breast as i pursued the traitor!" the mandarin clutched at his frayed yellow blouse and wrung a fold of it in his fat fingers. "who can tell of that? i followed the wagon road through the mountains, looking and listening. then i heard some one, afar off, shouting the name of motor matt. hope leaped high within me, for that name, notable sir, has a magic of its own. i turned from the road, climbed many rocks, and crushed through thick growths of prickly bushes, striving to reach the one who had shouted. also, i shouted myself, and presently, to my great but mistaken delight, other shoutings were returned to me. i went on, in my deceived state, and came to a place where i was captured--made a prisoner by grattan and that contemptible mariner of the single eye! your friend of the cattle districts was likewise a prisoner." "mcglory--captured by grattan!" gasped matt. "how did that happen? why, i thought he was with martin." "not so, deceived friend. he had tried to follow you in the pursuit of sam wing, and he had lost knowledge of his location, and was shouting to hear some speak and tell him where he was. that is what i heard. before i could reach your friend, grattan and bunce had also heard him, and made him a prisoner. then they heard me, and made _me_ a captive. verily, the ten thousand demons have had me under the ban." "i'm beginning to get at this," said matt grimly. "where did you and grattan come from, bunce, that you were placed so handily for entrapping mcglory and the mandarin?" "we'd made port in the hills," replied bunce, "an' was out lookin' for tsan ti an' the ruby." "they, miserable creatures," resumed the mandarin, with a glance of contempt at bunce, "had the blue car and the go-devil bicycles in a gashed-out spot among the mountains. a cavern, named by them a pocket, was in the wall of the rough valley. there were mcglory and i taken and bound. while grattan, bunce, and pardo, birds of evil feather, were plotting in the blue car, i gnawed the cord that secured your unfortunate friend's hands, and he freed himself and me. after that mcglory raised a great clamor. grattan, bunce, and pardo came hastily to observe what might be the trouble, and i went out of the pocket as they came in. then i took the motor cycle, as i have said, and moved away, followed by the mariner. is the matter clear, esteemed friend?" "i'm beginning to understand it," answered matt. "it's the queerest mix-up i ever heard of. strange that you and joe should fall into the hands of grattan and bunce, as you did, and that you should happen to lead bunce this way when you fled on the motor cycle." "matter-of-fact youth," remarked the mandarin earnestly, "do you not realize how strange events happen swiftly in the wake of the eye of buddha? the ten thousand demons are doing their worst continually, and their powers for evil are vast beyond imagining!" "we'll pass over that phase of the matter," said matt dryly, "and try to get at something that will benefit mcglory. can you take me to this 'pocket,' as you call it?" "not so," replied the mandarin. "i have no recollection how i came from it, or what roads i took. the roads were many, and the way was long, and my mind was too greatly disturbed to pay attention." "where's the pocket, bunce?" asked matt, addressing the sailor. "i know, messmate," scowled bunce, "but i'm not showin' ye the course." matt was in a quandary. he could not understand why grattan had captured mcglory, but he was not intending to let his chum remain any longer in the hands of the thieves than was absolutely necessary. a way would be found to make bunce lead him to the pocket. "generous and agreeable friend," spoke up tsan ti, "did you succeed in capturing sam wing?" "i did," replied matt. "then may i request of you the eye of buddha?" "i'll take you to sam wing and you can request it of him," said matt. "get up, bunce," he ordered, "and start yourself for the barn. will you," and matt shot a glance at the farmer, "kindly remove that rope from the road and set the motor cycles upright in a place where they will be safe?" "glad to do anythin' fer yew that i can," answered the farmer, dropping his rake and getting busy with the rope. matt, face to face with the ordeal of acquainting tsan ti with the fact that the ruby was irretrievably lost, was wondering, as he drove bunce toward the barn, what the result of the catastrophe was to be. chapter xii. another surprise. bunce was accepting his hard luck with all the complaisance he could muster. his pursuit of the mandarin had led him into difficulties undreamed of, but he still indulged a hope that the resourceful grattan might come to his aid. he went into the barn, and recoiled a little as a savage growl struck on his ears. tige was still guarding sam wing. "sit down," said matt, to bunce, nodding toward some bags of ground feed lying on the barn floor. "the dog won't molest you; he's looking after sam wing." bunce, plainly uncomfortable, seated himself, watching tige warily. the instant tsan ti came through the barn door and saw sam wing, a cry of rage burst from his lips, and he flew at his treacherous servant. matt grabbed the angry mandarin and held him back. "that won't do, tsan ti," said matt. "sit down and take things calmly. there's your money," and he pointed to the alligator-skin pouch which lay by the wagon tongue. "sam wing turned it over to me. you'd better count it and make sure it's all there. hereafter, it would be wise for you to take care of your money yourself." tsan ti glared at sam wing, then stooped down, and recovered the pouch. the receptacle was filled with soggy banknotes, and, while the mandarin was fingering them over, he kept up a running fire of talk in chinese. the condemnation must have been of the most scathing sort, for the wretched sam wing shivered as he listened. presently sam wing himself began to talk. he spoke at length, and must have been acquainting the mandarin with the dread fact that the eye of buddha was lost, for, suddenly, tsan ti dropped the alligator-skin pouch and the wet bills and reeled back against the barn wall. his eyes became glassy and his face turned white. presently he sank down on the barn floor, listless and staring. "has he told you about the ruby, tsan ti?" asked matt, his pity for the mandarin rising paramount to any other feeling he may have cherished against him. tsan ti did not answer; in fact, he did not seem to hear. he had suffered a blow that paralyzed his faculties. "blow me tight!" breathed bunce, astonished. "hasn't he got the ruby?" "didn't grattan search him?" returned matt. "ah, he looked through his pockets and his sandals, and even tried to find the eye of buddha in his queue, but it wasn't there. for all that, we thought the chink knowed where the stone was an' could be made to tell." "he knew where it was--sam wing had it." "hocused it?" "stole it--then lost it!" "shiver me!" exclaimed bunce, aghast. "then tsan ti ain't got the ruby, an' grattan won't never be able to put hands on it!" "it's gone for good," answered matt. "now you can see, bunce, just how much good grattan's trickery and double-dealing has benefited him. you and he stole the ruby from the honam joss house and brought it to america; tsan ti followed you, under orders from the regent of china to recover the idol's eye or else to strangle himself with the yellow cord; the ruby was recovered for tsan ti here in the catskills, but grattan kept up his wild scheming and committed one piece of lawless villainy after another in his attempts to get the ruby away from tsan ti; now we're at the end of the whole business, and neither grattan nor tsan ti has the ruby, or will ever have it." just at that moment the farmer came into the barn. "i got them machines where they'll be safe," he announced, "an'---gosh all whittaker! what's the fat chinaman doin'?" matt turned to look at tsan ti. he had the yellow cord around his throat, rove into a running bowline, and was pulling at the loose end. the king of the motor boys hurried to him and jerked his hands from the cord with a quick movement. "that will do, tsan ti!" cried matt sternly. "can't you be a man? you're not going to strangle yourself while i'm around!" "there is no hope for tsan ti," mumbled the mandarin. "the august decree of my regent--may his years be many and glorious!--calls for my quick dispatch." matt pulled the cord from the mandarin's neck. "listen, tsan ti," said he; "don't give up until you know the case is really hopeless. we can go back over the ground sam wing covered while i was chasing him, and it is possible we can find the ruby." "not possible, deluded friend," answered the mandarin. "the contemptible canton dog says the gem may be in the water, or in many other places where its recovery is out of the question. the blandishments of hope pale into the heavy darkness of my certain destruction. present me with the cord, i beg of you. tsan ti, mandarin of the red button, is not afraid to join his exalted ancestors in the country dear to true believers." "wrong in the upper story, ain't he?" put in the farmer. "in a way," replied matt. "he sure had himself goin' with that piece o' yellow string. them heathens is queer, anyway." "i'll not give you this cord, tsan ti," declared matt, "until i can look over the course followed by sam wing and make an attempt to find the ruby." "there are other means for performing the quick dispatch," said tsan ti calmly. "i prefer the cord; it is an honor to use an instrument direct from the regent's hands; but, if the cord is not at hand, other means will avail me, ungenerous youth." matt studied the mandarin for a few moments. in his eyes he read determination. matt, matter-of-fact american lad that he was, could not understand the oriental custom now exemplified by tsan ti--he could not understand the thousands of years' usage which had made the custom part of a chinaman's faith, and he had nothing but contempt for the exhibition the mandarin was making of himself. "get the rope, please," said matt to the farmer. "i think we'll use it." the farmer brought the rope, and matt, with his assistance, tied tsan ti's hands and feet. the mandarin yielded passively. "this will not serve," was all he said; "the time for my dispatch will arrive, in spite of you." "if you keep on acting in this foolish way, tsan ti," answered matt, "i'll lose all the respect i ever had for you. face the music, can't you? there's no merit in throwing up your hands and quitting just because you have run into a streak of hard luck." "you don't understand, ignorant one." "i understand, fast enough, that you can't hurt yourself while you're tied up." he turned away. "do you think tige can watch two prisoners?" he asked of the farmer. "yew bet he can," answered the farmer enthusiastically, "two 'r a dozen. why, that dorg's quicker'n chain lightnin'." "then," went on matt, "just give tige to understand that he's to watch the sailor, as well as that other chinaman." the farmer spoke to the dog, and the animal took up a position between sam wing and bunce. the sailor tried to draw back, but tige stopped the movement with a savage snarl and a half move as though he would bite. "keelhaul me!" cried bunce. "is this what ye call treatin' a feller white? why, i wouldn't treat a hottentot swab like this!" "i've got you, bunce," said matt grimly, "and, no matter what becomes of grattan and pardo, the law won't be cheated entirely." "what've i done that ye can send me to the brig for? tell me that!" "isn't the theft of the ruby enough to send you to jail?" "that happened in chiny, an' we're in america now." "well, putting that aside, there remains the criminal work you did at the catskill garage last night. you can be sent to the penitentiary for that, bunce." that was a blow that left bunce gasping. "grattan done that," he cried; "it wasn't me planned it." "you helped grattan, bunce, and you were recognized by the night man. there's a clear case against you, and you'll deserve all the punishment you receive." "say," said bunce, with a sudden inspiration, "if ye'll let me go, i'll take ye to that pocket where mcglory is! i'll do more'n that, sink me if i won't! you let me slip my hawse and slant away clear o' these hills, an' i'll help ye git mcglory away from grattan an' pardo. what d'ye say, mate? it ain't a job ye could do alone, an' it ain't a place ye can find onless i show the way. what's the word?" "i've had enough experience with you, bunce," returned matt, "to know that you're not to be depended on. you'd play some treacherous trick that would----" here a voice--a very familiar voice--came floating through the open barn door. "whoop-ya! any one around? show up, somebody, and tell me where i am and how to go to get to the spring on the trail from catskill to gardenville! whoo-ee!" "woods is full o' strangers to-day, seems like!" exclaimed the farmer. matt bolted past him through the door, then halted, and gazed spellbound at a blue automobile with joe mcglory in the driver's seat. this might have been considered the culminating surprise of the day's events. and it was a mutual surprise, too, judging by the way mcglory acted. leaning over the steering wheel, the cowboy gazed like one in a trance. "matt!" he shouted at last, "is this a dream, or the real thing? say something, you old hardshell. sufferin' tenterhooks! i can't tell how nervous you make me." chapter xiii. baiting a trap. "is that the new york man's automobile, joe?" asked matt, "the one that was stolen from martin's garage last night?' "it's the one, pard," jubilated the cowboy. "i've come through a-smoking with it from that place where grattan had me pocketed with the mandarin. it's queer i stopped here, although i'm off my bearings, haven't the least notion where i am, and this is the first farmhouse i've seen for a dozen miles; but it won't seem quite so queer when i tell you that i saw those machines leaning against the corncrib, and that the familiar look of 'em brought me in to stir up the natives and ask a few questions." mcglory pointed toward a corncrib off at the rear of the barn. the two motor cycles were leaning against the structure, just where the farmer had left them. "i see," said matt. "are those motor cycles the ones that belong to martin, that were stolen from us and that we bled a hundred and fifty apiece for?" "they're the ones." "well, now!" chuckled mcglory, "what sort of a day's work would you call this, pard? we get back the stolen automobile and both motor cycles. i'm ready to hear the whistle blow." "there's something else to be done before we finish this piece of work, joe." "tell me about it." "sam wing is in the barn, there----" "whoop! then you _did_ get the kibosh on him, after all!" "and tsan ti," proceeded matt, "and bunce." "better and better; but i'd almost guessed that just from seeing the motor cycles. what have you been doing since we went two different ways from the spring?" the king of the motor boys sketched rapidly the main points of sam wing's flight and the pursuit, following with the blockade of the road and the capture of bunce. "and tsan ti is in the barn this minute," finished matt, "roped hand and foot to keep him from taking his own life on account of the lost ruby. if possible, i'd like to go over the course of wing's flight and look for the eye of buddha." "might as well look for a nickel in the pacific ocean," scowled mcglory. "it looks like a hopeless case, i'll admit, but i can't leave the poor old mandarin without trying to do something for him." "you're too easy with the crafty old heathen." "you'd be sorry for him, too, joe, if you could see what a plight he's in." "he was as hard-looking a sight as i ever saw when he fell into grattan's clutches a few hours ago. if you're bound to go rainbow-chasing after the eye of buddha, why, of course i'm in on the deal. we'll have to be about it, i reckon, while we've got daylight to help." "we can use this car for a part of the work. wing came along the road from that direction." matt pointed as he spoke. "why," said mcglory, "i came from that direction myself. i don't reckon it's safe to go back that way." "not safe?" echoed matt. "why isn't it safe?" "mainly for the reason, pard, that grattan and pardo are trailing this car. they didn't like to lose it. that hole through the back"--and mcglory turned to point it out--"was made by a bullet that grattan sent after me. i've been traveling roads that automobiles never took before, and the marks this car left would make easy trailing." "do you know positively that grattan and pardo are following the car?" "well, yes, if you want to pin me down. one of the electric terminals got loose when i was a short distance away from the pocket, and i had a time finding out what was wrong. while i was groping around, i saw grattan and pardo chasing toward me. they were a good ways off, but if you want a picture of a chap in a hurry you ought to've had a snapshot of me! i was lucky enough to find the loose wire just in time to screw it to the post, crank up, and fly. the tinhorns were within a hundred feet of the blue car when we jumped away on the high speed. and that's how i know grattan and pardo are after me. besides, now that the motor cycles are gone, those fellows need the blue car to help them make a dash out of the hills. jump in, though, if you want to take chances, and we'll go looking for that hoodoo ruby." but matt was not in so much of a hurry now. leaning against the side of the car, he fell into a brown study. "what's to pay?" asked mcglory. "something else on your mind?" "well, yes," laughed matt; "i'd like to use you and the blue car in baiting a trap." "oh, well, i don't mind. grattan used me for bait in trapping tsan ti, so i'm getting used to it. but what sort of a trap is it?" "if grattan and pardo are really following you," said matt, "why couldn't you go back down the road, stop the car, and pretend you had a breakdown?" "bee-yu-ti-ful!" rapped out mcglory. "i could do all that, pard, and grattan and pardo could show up and gobble me, blue car and all. fine! say, you're most as good a hand at planning as the mandarin." "but suppose," supplemented matt, "that two or three fellows were hid in the tonneau of the car and that they jumped out at the right moment and made things interesting for grattan and pardo?" mcglory lifted his clinched fist and brought it down emphatically on the steering wheel. "speak to me about that! i might have known you had something up your sleeve. i think it would work, pard, but who's to hide in the tonneau? you, for one, of course, but who else?" "the farmer who lives here seems to be rather handy and to have plenty of courage, and he's got a bulldog that's a whole team and something to spare. i guess the farmer, and i, and the dog will be enough." "keno! trot out the rube and the kyoodle and we'll slide back down the road with a chip on our shoulder." matt went into the barn for a talk with the farmer. he listened attentively while matt gave him a rã©sumã© of events and a synopsis of the plan he had evolved. "i'm with yew," cried the farmer, slapping his hands, "but yew'll have to wait till i tell josi' where i'm goin'. if we take the dorg away from the barn, josi' ought to watch these fellers till we git back." "we'll put ropes on the sailor and that other chinaman," said matt, "but it will be a good idea to have them watched, just the same." the farmer got some spare halters and helped with the tying. when it was finished, he hurried away to find "josi'" and to tell him what he was to do. in ten minutes he was back, bringing a long, spare individual clad in a "wamus" and overalls. "here's the fellers yew're to watch, josi'," said the farmer, waving a hand toward tsan ti, bunce, and sam wing. "don't yew let 'em git away, nuther." "if they git away, by jing," answered josi', pushing up the sleeves of his wamus, "they'll have to walk over me to do it. you be kerful, zeke boggs. 'pears mighty like you had the hot end o' this job." "don't yew fret none about me," answered boggs. "i wasn't born yestiddy." he called the dog, and he, and matt, and tige left the barn and crawled into the tonneau of the blue car. "how far down the road am i to go, pard?" queried mcglory, getting out to turn over the engine. "oh, a mile or two," answered matt. "maybe there'll not be anything doing," said joe, as he climbed back to his seat. "grattan and pardo may have become discouraged, and given up the trail. even if they hung to it, we'll have to wait some time for them." "they'll come," said matt. "i never had a day pan out so much excitement as this one has given us. events have been crowding our way so thick and fast that they're not going to stop until we have a chance at grattan and pardo." "i'm agreeable," expanded mcglory. "anything from a fight to a foot race goes with _me_. after the way i starred myself by getting lost in this little bunch of toy mountains, i'm hungry to square myself by doing something worth while." "you've squared yourself already by getting back the blue car," returned matt. "not so you could notice. tsan ti helped me along with that move. the chance jumped up when i wasn't expecting it, and hit me square between the eyes. anyone could have turned that trick." mcglory was pushing the blue car back along the road at a lively clip. matt stood up to look ahead, in the vain hope of getting track of the red jewel. "i know what you're looking for, pard," remarked the cowboy, "and you're not going to find it. a good many peculiar things have happened to-day, and no mistake; but picking that red stone out of a couple of square miles of country would be too uncommon. good luck won't strain itself to that extent. think we're far enough?" "this will do," answered matt, and mcglory halted the blue car in about the loneliest spot in the catskills. there was a marsh on one side of the road, bordered with stunted trees and matted bushes. on the other side was the timber. "maybe," suggested mcglory, "i'd better head the car t'other way? that's how i was going when grattan and pardo saw me last, and----" he cut short his remarks abruptly and peered off along the road. "what's the matter, joe?" asked matt. "car coming," was the reply. "i don't reckon many cars take this road, and it's possible grattan and pardo borrowed one from somebody who wasn't looking and are using it to hunt for the blue automobile. lie low, matt, you, and boggs, and the dog. here's where i begin to pretend--listen while i tinker." "if we have a fight," said boggs, as he and matt crouched down in the tonneau, "by gum, i want yew to let me do my share." "we'll all have plenty to do, mr. boggs," answered matt, well pleased with the farmer's spirit, "if those fellows who are coming are the ones we're after. don't make a move, though, and don't let tige loose until i give the word." silence fell over those in the tonneau. mcglory could be heard pottering around with a wrench, and presently the hum of the approaching car could be heard. "i don't like the looks of things," called the cowboy, in a guarded tone, from the front of the blue car. "why not?" asked matt. "can't tell yet. you fellows stay where you are and keep mum." the noise of the other automobile had grown to proportions which proved that it was almost at hand. mcglory said something, but it was impossible for matt or boggs to hear what it was. the other car stopped so close to the blue automobile that the mud guards almost scraped. matt, from the depths of the tonneau, caught sight of a high-powered roadster with two business-like appearing men on the seats. but they were not grattan and pardo. "that's the car, sure as shooting!" declared one. "get out, gridly," said the second man, "and look at the number." gridly jumped down from the roadster and hurried to the rear of the touring car. "we've won out, banks!" he called. "the number's eighty-one-two-sixty-three." "what's the matter?" inquired matt, rising in the tonneau and looking out from under the top. "matter?" grinned banks. "nothin' much, only i'm the sheriff and all you fellows are arrested. you stole this car from martin's garage in catskill last night. jest be peaceable, and everythin' 'll be fine: but try to make trouble and there'll be warm doings." "sufferin' jonah!" laughed mcglory. "wouldn't this rattle your spurs, matt?" chapter xiv. how the trap was sprung. matt remembered that martin had said the new york man who owned the stolen car had sent telegrams and telephone messages all through the hills. perhaps, if there was any wonderment to be indulged in, it should have been because mcglory had escaped the officers as long as he had. the king of the motor boys opened the tonneau door and stood on the footboard, facing banks. "you've made a slight mistake, mr. banks," said matt. "from your point of view," answered the sheriff, "i guess maybe i have. there happens to be five hundred dollars in this for me an' gridly, though, and we ain't takin' your word for it that there's a mistake. this car answers the description of the one that was stolen, right down to the number." "this is the car, all right," proceeded matt, "but we're not the fellows who stole it." "caught with the goods," jeered gridly, "an' then deny the hull job! nervy, but it won't wash." "where'd the car fall into your hands if you ain't the ones that stole it?" asked banks. "my chum, there, got it away from the thieves." "oh, that's what your chum did, eh?" "you're to get five hundred dollars for recovering the car?" said matt. "_and_ capturin' the thieves," returned banks. "was one of the thieves supposed to be a sailor with a green patch over one eye?" gridly and banks must have experienced something of a shock. for a moment they gazed at each other. "somethin' _was_ said in that telegraft about a sailor with a green patch over one eye, banks," observed gridly. "that's a fact," admitted banks reflectively. "but we've got the car and there ain't no sailor with it. i guess that part of the telegram must have been a mistake." "there's no mistake about it," said matt. "we have captured the sailor, and he's at the farm of mr. boggs, here." matt drew to one side so the officers could see the farmer. "well, if it ain't boggs!" exclaimed banks, startled. "zeke boggs an' his brindled bulldog!" added gridly. "what the young feller says is straight goods, banks," declared the farmer. "the sailor with the patch over his eye is up to my place in the barn. josi's watchin' 'im." "what're you doin' here? that's what i want to know,' said banks. "come out to help these young fellers spring a trap." "what sort of a trap?" "why," put in matt, "a trap to catch two pals of the sailor--one of them is the man who helped the sailor take this car from martin's garage." banks helped himself to a chew of tobacco. "jest for the sake of bein' sociable, an' gettin' at the nub of this thing," he remarked, "you might tell us who you are, young feller, an' what you happen to be doing in this part of the hills?" "my name's king, matt king----" "otherwise," cut in mcglory, "motor matt. maybe you've heard of motor matt?" "i have," said banks; "he's been doing things around catskill for the last few days." the sheriff passed his shrewd eyes over the king of the motor boys as he balanced himself on the footboard. there was nothing in the lad's appearance to indicate that he was not telling the truth. "i'm not doubting your word at all, young feller," remarked banks, "but i'll feel a lot more like believing you if you tell me about this trap you're arrangin' to spring." matt told how mcglory had run away from the pocket, and how grattan and pardo had followed him. he finished by describing the manner in which grattan and pardo were to be lured into the vicinity of the blue automobile and captured. "that sounds like a play of motor matt's, right enough," said gridly. "anyhow, i don't think it'll work," announced banks. "why not?" asked matt. "you can't be sure grattan and pardo are follerin' the car; an', if they _are_ follerin', maybe they've got off the track." "that's possible, of course; but the chances for success, though slight, are worth waiting and working for, don't you think? if the plan fails, we'll be out nothing but our time." "two boys, a farmer, an' a dog ain't enough to make the play if it should come to a showdown," declared banks. "gridly and i will be in on it, i guess. i'll take this machine up the road and tuck it away in the bushes, then i'll come back, an' gridly an' i will crowd into the tonneau with the rest of you. if the game works, i'll be capturin' one of the men i'm arter; if it don't work, then, as you say, all we'll be out is a little time. i'll be back in a minute. pull the crank, gridly." the roadster flashed up the road, and matt could see banks forcing the machine into the bushes at the roadside. in a little while the sheriff was back at the touring car. "the back part of that machine will be a little crowded," said he, "but we'll have to stand it if we make the play you've laid out, motor matt." "suppose you and gridly get into the tonneau," suggested matt, "and leave boggs, and me, and the dog to hide in the bushes at the edge of the marsh? we'll be close enough to help if anything happens, and won't interfere with you if you should have to work in a hurry." there remained in the sheriff's mind a lingering suspicion that this idea was launched with some ulterior purpose in view, but a look into motor matt's face dispelled the unworthy thought. "that's a good suggestion," said banks. "get in here with me, gridly." "you'd better turn the car around, joe," went on matt, as soon as the officers were in the car. mcglory started the engine and threw on the reverse, backing the blue car until he had it headed the other way. "now we're ready for whatever's to come," said banks. "and it can't come too quick, either," supplemented gridly. matt, boggs, and the dog retired to the edge of the marsh and made themselves comfortable among the bushes. the king of the motor boys was well pleased with the way the encounter with the sheriff had turned out. there had been, for a few moments, the promise of a serious complication, but banks had proved reasonable and there was nothing more to worry about. matt's hope now was that grattan and pardo would fall into the trap that was laid for them. if they did, the motor boys' account with the unscrupulous grattan would be settled for all time. they would always have some regrets on account of the poor old mandarin, but after they had looked carefully over the course of sam wing's flight, they would have done everything possible to help tsan ti. "by gum," remarked boggs, while he and matt were waiting, "i never knowed yew was motor matt!" "i didn't suppose you'd ever heard of motor matt, mr. boggs," answered the young motorist. "i take a gardenville paper, and that had a lot to say about what yew been doin' down to catskill. yew've given things quite a stirrin' up in that town. is that fat chink the one that come from chiny to get holt of the idol's eye?" "he's the one." "well, i'm s'prised; i am, for a fact! jest to think all this took place right on my farm! josi' won't hardly know what to think, and the----" "quiet in there, pard!" came the low voice of mcglory. "they're coming." "grattan and pardo?" returned matt. "sure, and they walk as though they were tired. now i've got to rustle around and pretend to be so busy i don't see 'em." the cowboy opened the hood and fell to tinkering with the wrench. all was quiet in the tonneau, but there was a load of danger for grattan and pardo in that blue car had they but known it! peering from the bushes, matt and boggs saw the two men come swiftly and silently along the road. mcglory, with steady nerves, kept at his work. pardo crept up behind the cowboy and caught him suddenly about the shoulders. "i guess that puts the boot on the other leg!" exulted pardo, drawing mcglory roughly away from the machine. "the fellow that laughs last," cried grattan, "laughs best. you've given us a good hard run of it, mcglory, but we just _had_ to have this car. it means everything to pardo and me. what's the trouble with it?" "loose burr," answered the cowboy, with feigned sullenness. "it's been bothering me ever since i left the pocket. if it hadn't been for that, you'd never have caught me." "probably not," said grattan. "small things sometimes lead to big results. show me the loose burr and i'll tighten it. after that, mcglory, we'll bid you an affectionate farewell and show these mountains our heels." "the wrench i've got isn't large enough," went on mcglory. "you'll have to get another out of the tool box." this was a clever ruse on the cowboy's part to draw the thief to the footboard of the car--placing him handily for banks and gridly. the tool box was open. grattan, entirely unsuspicious, went back around the side of the car and stooped over to get the wrench. the next moment banks had thrown himself on top of him, gridly had dropped out the other side of the car, mcglory had whirled on pardo, and matt, boggs, and tige were rushing out of the bushes. the trap had been sprung, and sprung so neatly that neither grattan nor pardo had the slightest chance of getting out of it or of using their firearms. chapter xv. back to the farm. the skirmish--for it amounted to little more than that--was over with in short order. grattan resisted stoutly, but boggs went to banks' assistance, while matt and gridly went to mcglory's. in almost less time than it takes to tell it, handcuffs were snapped on the wrists of the prisoners and they were loaded into the tonneau with the two officers. "it worked as slick as greased lightning, motor matt!" cried the delighted sheriff. "those two crooks never suspected a thing!" pardo was exceedingly bitter. "now, see what your confounded plans have done for me, grattan!" he cried angrily. "i was a fool to ever tie up with you." "if we'd been successful," returned grattan coolly "and secured the ruby, you'd have talked the other way. where's your nerve, pardo?" pardo, still dazed by the suddenness of the capture, sank back into the corner of the tonneau, muttering. "this is your work, is it, motor matt?" inquired grattan, leaning over the side of the car and fixing his gaze on the young motorist. "i helped plan it," said matt. "he was the whole works," spoke up mcglory. "maybe it wasn't _quite_ so clever as the way you played it on me and tsan ti, grattan," and a tantalizing grin accompanied the words; "but i reckon it'll do." "the more i see and learn about motor matt," declared grattan, "the more i admire his shining abilities. he's a wonder. we've matched wits several times, and he's always had a shade the best of it. will you answer a civil question, my lad?" "what is it?" "where's tsan ti and the ruby?" "tsan ti and bunce are at a farm near here, but----" "so that old idiot has got tangled in the net, too!" "but the ruby," finished matt, "has been lost." "lost?" grattan showed considerable excitement. "how was it lost?" "sam wing stole the ruby from tsan ti, on the train, and jumped off at gardenville. the mandarin discovered his loss in time to leave the train at the same station." "oh, thunder!" exclaimed grattan disgustedly. "so _that_ was why tsan ti followed sam wing out of gardenville!" "and you thought the mandarin was afraid of you, and that that was his reason for hot-footing it into the hills," derided pardo. "where and how was the ruby lost?" went on grattan, paying no attention to pardo. "i started out with martin to look for this automobile," said matt, "and we found sam wing at the watering place on the gardenville road. mcglory and i followed him, but my chum got lost and i was left to keep up the chase alone. it was somewhere along the course sam wing led me that the ruby was lost." "sam wing is fooling you!" "i think he's telling the truth, grattan." "bosh! the chink has hidden the ruby and is trying to make you believe he lost it. if you let him go, he'll find the stone and get away with it." "why not turn him loose, an' then follow him?" suggested banks. matt shook his head. "i'm positive sam wing is giving the straight of it," he declared. "well," laughed grattan, but with an undernote of regret, "i hope he is. if i can't have the ruby that i've worked for so long, i'm glad to think that no one else will have it. where are we bound for, gentlemen?" and grattan turned to banks and gridly. "to the boggs farm to pick up the sailor," banks replied, "then for the catskill jail." "very pleasant outlook," observed grattan. "can you drive a motor car, matt?" asked gridly. "_can_ he?" exploded mcglory. "say, pard," he added, turning to matt, "do you know a spark-plug from the carburetor?" "no offense," proceeded gridly hastily. "i was only going to ask matt if he would bring our roadster along." "boggs and i will come in the roadster," said matt. "you take the blue car to the farm, joe." "on the jump, pard!" came heartily from mcglory. "you motor boys are a great team!" exclaimed banks. "they're hard to beat," put in grattan. "if it hadn't been for them, i should have been in paris about now, in very comfortable circumstances." matt waited for no more, but, accompanied by boggs and tige, hurried along the road to the place where banks had left the roadster. matt was cranking when mcglory whirled past on his way to the farm. two minutes later the roadster was crowding the touring car hard, and matt was honking for the cowboy to make better time. "everybody seems to be your friend, motor matt," said boggs, "even that there thief." "grattan is a strange fellow, boggs," answered matt. "he's as talented a chap as you'll find anywhere, but he'd rather steal for a living than work honestly." "some folks is that way," ruminated boggs. "they'll waste more brains an' elbow grease pullin' off a robb'ry that'll bring 'em in a thousand dollars than they'd need for makin' ten thousand honestly. look at me, scrubbin' along on a stony farm, raisin' garden truck for the hotels, when i might go out with a drill an' a jimmy, an'----" "make a nice comfortable home for yourself in a stone house with iron doors and barred windows," laughed matt. "there are lots of worse places than a stony truck farm, boggs." "i guess yew're right." at that moment the touring car turned in at the farmyard and came to a halt near the barn. the roadster followed and stopped alongside. leaving gridly to take care of grattan and pardo, banks accompanied matt and boggs into the barn. josi' met them at the door. "what luck, zeke?" he asked. "best kind, josi'," replied boggs. "got our men, too easy for any use. the sheriff, here, and his deputy, gridly, come along jest in time to help. they want one o' the prisoners we left yew to take keer of." "they're all here, you bet," said josi', with laudable pride. "the' wa'n't any of 'em could git away from _me_." banks cast his eyes over the three men. "what's to be done with the two chinamen?" he asked. "i think they ought to go to catskill, too," said matt. "we can carry the sailor in the tonneau of the big car, and there's room for one of the chinamen on the seat alongside mcglory. t'other chink could go with you, in the roadster. which is the mandarin that got robbed of the ruby?" matt pointed to the dejected figure of tsan ti. "what is he roped for?" asked banks. "so he can't put himself out of the way," said matt. "the regent of china sent him a yellow cord, and told him that if he did not recover the ruby in two weeks he was please to strangle himself. i had to tie the mandarin in that way to keep him from obeying orders." banks was not a hard-hearted man, and something in the mandarin's plight touched him. perhaps it was the celestial's hopeless air, coupled with his torn and dusty garments. the sheriff stood for a few minutes in front of tsan ti, looking down at him and shaking his head. "they're a queer lot, these chinks," he commented finally. "their ideas are not ours, by a long shot, but i don't know as that's anything against them. do you want to take the mandarin with you in the roadster, matt?" "i think i'd better." matt bent down and removed the rope from tsan ti's ankles. the mandarin did not want to get up or make a move, but matt and banks lifted him to his feet and succeeded in getting him out of the barn. as they stood beside the roadster, the mandarin slumping limply in their supporting hands, a cry came from the road. "well, by golly! if dar ain't de man whut got ole gin'ral jackson back fo' me. ah's monsus 'bliged tuh yo', boss, ah is, fer er fac'." matt looked around and saw the old darky ambling toward the barn on his mule. "that's neb hogan," spoke up boggs. "he's got a cabin down beyond about half a mile. do you know him, motor matt?" although old neb hogan did not look it, yet he was, at that moment, engaged upon one of the most important missions of his life. chapter xvi. conclusion. "what can i do for you, neb?" asked matt, facing the darky as he pulled his mule to a halt. "ah dunno as yo' can do nuffin' fo' me, boss," answered neb. "ah reckons yo's done about all fo' dis moke dat he can expec'. yo' done got gin'ral jackson back fo' me, an' dat odder feller found his bicycle, too. ah 'lows yo' must hab been in er hurry, 'case yo' didn't wait fo' me to tell yo' ah was obliged fo' whut yo' done. lucky ah seed yo' while ah was passin' mars boggs' place. close tuh where dat white boy found his bicycle dar was somefin' right on de aidge o' de bridge. ah gaddered it in, en ah thought mebby yo' was de one whut drapped hit. ah was wonderin' en mah ole head how ah was gwine tuh diskibber whedder what ah found belonged tuh you--en heah, right when ah was gittin' clost tuh home, ah done sees yuh! ain't dat fine? somefin' strodinary 'bout dat." a faint hope was rising in motor matt's breast, but it was very faint. the foundation of it was almost too preposterous for belief. "what did you find, neb?" he asked. "ah don't know whedder hit amounts to nuffin' er not, but ah reckons yo' kin tell." thereupon neb shoved one hand into a pocket of his tattered coat and brought out, mixed in his yellow palm with two nails, a fishline, and a piece of chewing tobacco---_the eye of buddha!_ it was almost sunset, and the early shadows were beginning to fly over the eastern borders of the catskills, but there was enough light to strike sparkling crimson gleams from the fateful gem that lay in the old darky's hand. "does dat 'ar thing b'long tuh yo', boss?" said neb hogan. "hold it just that way for a minute, neb," returned matt. then quickly he slipped the cords from the mandarin's wrists. "look up, tsan ti," went on matt. "see here a minute." apathetically the mandarin raised his head. his gaze fell on the red gem, glittering amid the poor treasures which the old negro "toted" in his pocket. the mandarin's body stiffened, his hands flew to his forehead, and he gazed spellbound; then, with a hoarse cry, he caught the ruby from neb's hand, pushed it against his breast, and fell to his knees, muttering wildly in his native tongue. "well, by thunder!" exclaimed banks. "is that the idol's eye, matt?" matt nodded. "you found that red jewel at the edge of the bridge, you say, neb?" "dat's whar ah done picked it up. what is dat thing, anyhow? by golly, dat chinymum ack lak he done gone crazy." "it's a ruby, neb," explained matt, "and very valuable. the chinaman who stole your mule had taken the ruby away from this other chinaman, and was trying to escape with it. general jackson wouldn't take the bridge, and the chinaman on his back kicked and pounded him so that the mule bucked and tossed him to the edge of the bridge. before the chinaman could save himself he fell into the creek. the ruby must have dropped out of his pocket upon the planks of the bridge. i didn't see it, though, and it remained for you to pick it up." "by golly!" breathed neb. "ain't dat a mos' 'sprisin' purceedin'? ah done finds de ruby fo' de feller whut got mah mu-el back fo' me. is we squar' now, boss?" "square?" laughed matt. "why, neb, we're a whole lot more than square. how much do you think that ruby's worth?" "kain't be hit's worf mo' dan ten dollahs, i reckons," he guessed. "it's worth thousands of dollars, neb!" "go 'long wif yo' foolishness! dat red thing kain't be worf all dat money, nohow. yo's foolin' de pore ole moke." "it's the truth, neb." tsan ti, jabbering wildly, arose from his bended knees and pulled his alligator-skin pouch from his blouse. "excellent stranger of the dusky race," said he, "i gather from what i hear that i am in your debt for the recovery of the eye of buddha. will it insult you if i offer, of my goodness of heart, five hundred dollars?" neb hogan nearly fell from general jackson's back. "whut's dat he's er-sayin' tuh me?" he asked, rolling up the whites of his eyes. "talkin' 'bout five--five hunnerd dollahs, en 'bout insultin' me wif it. by golly, ah's brack, but ah don't 'low no yalluh trash tuh mek spo't ob me. somebody hole mah mu-el twill ah climb down. five hunnerd dollahs! ah won't 'low no chinymun tuh say no such thing. ah--ah----" words died on the old negro's lips. tsan ti had pushed a bundle of money up in front of his face, and neb was gazing at the bills like one demented. "accept of my gratitude, illustrious one," chanted the mandarin. "you are worthy--it is little enough." the darky tried to talk, but the words stuck in his throat. mechanically he took the bills, smoothed them out in his hands, and finally pushed them into his pocket. "ah reckons dishyer's a dream," he managed to gasp finally. "ah reckons ah'll wake up tuh heah mandy buildin' de fiah fo' breakfus. eider dat, or ah's suah gone crazy." then, turning general jackson, neb hogan rode out of the gate, looking back fearfully as long as he was in sight, wondering, no doubt, if those he had left were not the phantoms of his disordered imagination. this little scene had been enacted under the eyes of mcglory and the prisoners in the blue touring car. grattan's feelings, perhaps, may be imagined better than described. mcglory was "stumped," as he would have expressed it. "now that tsan ti has got the ruby again, pard," called the cowboy, "i move we pack him in a box, idol's eye and all, and turn him over to the express company for safe transportation to canton. if we don't, something is sure going to happen to him." "nothing will happen to him now," said matt. "the men he had to fear are in the custody of the law, and from now on tsan ti will experience no more trouble." "esteemed friend," palpitated the overjoyed mandarin, "i shall yet deposit the ruby in the express company's care as soon as i get to catskill. the lessons i have had are sufficient." "that's the talk!" approved the cowboy. "what shall we do with sam wing?" asked matt. for an instant a flash of rage drove the happiness from the mandarin's eyes. but the flash died as swiftly as it came. "have you a knife, illustrious youth?" inquired the mandarin. "better keep it, pard!" warned mcglory. "tsan ti's going to do for wing!" but matt believed otherwise. taking his knife from his pocket, he handed it to tsan ti and the latter went into the barn. he reappeared in a few moments, and sam wing, freed of his ropes, accompanied him. harsh words in chinese broke from tsan ti's lips. he talked for perhaps two minutes steadily, the harshness leaving his voice as the torrent of speech flowed on. when he had finished, he reached into his alligator-skin pouch, brought out some money, and placed it in sam wing's hand; then, sternly, he pointed toward the road. "what a fool!" growled grattan. "why didn't he send the thief over the road?" muttered pardo. "speak to me about this!" cried mcglory. "looks like there was a few things we could learn from the chinks," pondered banks. "you're right, mr. banks," said matt. "tsan ti is the right sort, and i'm glad i did what i could to help him. let's start for catskill--i suppose martin is back there, by this time, and wondering what has become of joe and me. ready for new york in the morning, joe?" "i'm ready," was the prompt response, "but will we go?" "i believe we will," said matt, climbing into the roadster. "we've seen the last of the hoodoo. get in, tsan ti, and we'll hit it up between here and catskill. you're to ride with me." the end. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, october 2, 1909. terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, 5c. each. 3 months 65c. 4 months 85c. 6 months $1.25 one year 2.50 2 copies one year 4.00 1 copy two years 4.00 =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, 79-89 seventh avenue, new york city. hudson and the northwest passage. a short time ago the newspapers announced that a feat which for four hundred years stout ships and bold crews have been attempting had been accomplished by a little norwegian vessel of forty tons and seven men. long ago, the news would have thrilled the harbors of england and holland with joy and keen expectancy. coming in the twentieth century, it has created little sensation. perhaps, of all those who read the announcement, only the few to whom "the northwest passage" was a name full of history and heroism and romance realized what an interesting achievement had been made. for the practical value of the discovery had long since been discounted, and no "merchant adventurer" of the present day would have sunk half his fortune in equipping an expedition to solve the riddle that puzzled the brains of the men of long ago. for the search for the northwest passage was from the first a business affair. it was a mercantile question. the whole inquiry arose out of a trade competition between the northern and southern seafaring nations. this was the situation: spain and portugal had been first in the field, as regards over-sea discovery; they had found the way to the treasure house of asia, and the unspoiled riches of the new world. the portuguese held the monopoly of maritime trade with india--the venetians had long governed the overland route, and grown wealthy thereby--and the spaniards looked upon south america as their private property. of the two, the spanish settlements on the american coasts with the mines behind them drew the eyes of the adventurer, who secured his prizes at the sword's point, but asia was the more tempting to the trader. the former dreamed of the sack of opulent cities; the latter dreamed of bustling wharves, and barter, and english ships coming home laden with spices and silks, the peaceful spoils of the market place and the tropical forest and the shark-haunted seas. how to reach india "by a quick route, without crossing the sea paths of the portuguese and the spaniards," this, in a word, was the origin of the long and arduous search for the northwest passage. it was the general belief that america was an island, but the size and shape of it was still only imperfectly known. that there was a water way round the southern end of the great continent had been proved by magellan, who, in his voyage round the world, had passed through the straits that bear his name. the question now was, did a similar waterway exist at the northern end? they believed that america tapered to a point northward, as it did southward. they little realized how the northern continent spread itself out into the cold arctic seas, and with what a network of islands and ice floes it ended. and so they sent out ships to search for a water way through those inhospitable seas, and the first to go was an englishman, martin frobisher. greatly did he dare. we in these days of perfectly appointed ships, built of steel and driven by steam, can appreciate the hardihood of this hero and his crews, setting forth in two tiny craft of twenty-five and twenty tons burden, respectively, to solve the riddle of the northern seas! they sailed away--queen elizabeth herself waving them adieu from the windows of her palace at greenwich--on june 12th, 1576, and a month later they were off the coast of greenland. then came stormy weather. a pinnace with her crew of four was sunk, and frobisher found himself alone--one ship among the never-ending ice. for his consort had gone home, discouraged by the forbidding outlook. but almost immediately after this disappointment there came a gleam of hope. he beheld what appeared to be a passageway trending westward. it seems that this is still called frobisher bay. as he sailed through he thought that he had asia on one side and america on the other. it was but a happy delusion. the projecting corner of asia was far away; he was only abreast of what has since been named baffin's land. frobisher's second voyage, made in 1577, was rather a gold quest than a journey of discovery. a lump of stone (probably iron pyrites) had been brought home by one of the sailors as a souvenir of the first voyage. the particles of gold in it fired the fancies of some londoners with the idea that eldorado might perhaps, after all, be among the northern ice. so frobisher's ships went out again, and brought home something like 200 tons of the black stone. a third time they made the voyage, no less than fifteen ships taking part in the expedition, the object of which was to establish a sort of settlement for the working of the supposed "gold mine." but nothing came of the attempt. bewildering fogs and perilous storms and threatening icebergs beset the puny fleet; sickness followed hard upon the exposure and privations long endured by the poor fellows who manned it, and at last the scheme was abandoned. yet in this disappointing third voyage frobisher had unknowingly come very near the discovery which originally he had in view! for, in the words of the writer before quoted, "the truth was that frobisher's foremost ships had got farther to the south than was realized, and unwittingly he had discovered what is now known as hudson's strait--the sea gate of that very northwest passage on which his waking and sleeping thoughts so long had brooded." he had been carried some sixty leagues up the strait, but as he knew nothing as to whither it led he reaped no advantage. several years went by without another attempt being made to solve the problem, of the northwest passage, but at last, in the summer of 1585, some english merchants planned a fresh expedition. two ships were fitted out--one the _sunshine_, of london, fifty tons; the other the _moonshine_, of dartmouth, thirty-five tons. the command was intrusted to a young devonshire sailor, captain john davis, whose name is familiar to all schoolboys who have drawn maps of the northern parts of north america. though the records of the voyage abound with incidents relating to the various encounters that davis' men had with spouting whales and basking seals, uncouth eskimos, and polar bears, the actual achievements of this expedition were not great. the ships traversed part of what is now called davis strait, and went some way up cumberland gulf, but by the end of september they were back in dartmouth. davis set forth again, next summer, with three ships and a pinnace. the latter and one of the ships were dispatched up the east coast of greenland, while the commander, with the two other vessels, sailed northwest. he got as far as hudson strait and farther. and in a third voyage he reached a headland not far from upernavik. the hardihood and pluck displayed in these attempts to penetrate the ice-encumbered seas were splendid, but the results did not throw much light on the question of how to get northwest by sea to the indies. soon after this the kindred question of a northeast passage forced itself upon the seafaring people of holland, and the city of amsterdam fitted out four ships, and sent them forth under william barents, in the june of 1594. the story of this and subsequent expeditions cannot, however, be told here, though it is full of heroism and strange adventures. it was the idea of a northeast route which first laid hold of henry hudson, the intrepid englishman whose name figures so prominently on the map of north america. like barents, he made his way to nova zembla, but, baffled by the seemingly insuperable difficulties to the eastward, he turned westward in his third voyage, and again when he set forth on his fourth and last voyage. some of his men were evidently less stout of heart than their commander, and when there began to be real prospects of being caught in the ice, the spirit of mutiny got the upper hand. on june 21st, 1610, with a cowardice that was happily in strange contrast to the usual behavior of english crews, it was decided to get rid of the captain. next morning he and his little son, a loyal-hearted sailor (the ship's carpenter), and half a dozen sick and helpless members of the crew, were put over the ship's side into one of the boats, and left to their fate. the years went by. other expeditions were fitted out and sent northward, but the old reasons for finding out the northwest passage were fast disappearing. the portuguese monopoly of the sea-borne trade with india and the supremacy of spain on the ocean highways were things of the past. the ships of other nations had no longer to skulk past these aforetime kings of the sea. arctic exploration went on, but the idea of reaching the north pole was beginning to take the place of the idea of "making" the northwest passage. that old problem, however, was in prospect of being solved by the attempts made to solve the former. so that by the year 1853 collinson was able to sail so far that he came within fifty-seven miles--a mere pin prick on the map--of accomplishing the northwest passage. finally, in 1906, the passage, which, like a mountain tunnel, had been worked at from both ends, was penetrated from one opening to the other by the little _gjã¶a_, a norwegian sloop of forty tons, which sailed from christiania on june 1st, 1903. she was under the command of captain roald amundsen, of that city, and his right-hand man was lieutenant godfred hansen, of the danish navy; the crew numbered seven. she had not been built with a view to arctic work, so that before she went north into the realm of the ice king she had to be fortified somewhat. an ice sheathing of two-inch oak planks added greatly to her resisting power, and her petroleum motor of 13 horse power enabled her, when she put to sea, to attain a traveling speed of three knots in smooth water. but the _gjã¶a_ trusted chiefly, like the stout little barks of other days, to the skillful handling of her sails. the winters of 1903 and 1904 were spent in harbor on the shores of king william's land. only the premature closing in of the ice prevented the little vessel from achieving the passage in 1905. the death bite. "well, ed, let us hear from you to-night. you are always talking of strategy, flanks, and other soldiering knickknacks. now tell us a story." the boys drew their chairs about the roaring fire, which cast its ruddy glow about the room, while without the north wind held revelry in the branches of the trees. ed looked over the top of his paper, and smiled. "what's that you say, bib? i can't tell much of a story." ed drew his chair to the fire. a chorus of supplications came from all parts of the room, and ed laid aside his paper. "in the early spring of 1863 we were encamped near the pamunky river, about the time they were undermining the enemy's fort on the other side of the river. one rainy night a party of us were formed and marched out. it was well known the enemy was not far off, and i felt anything but pleasant. the rain poured down in a deluge, and we picked our way through the woods by the blinding flashes of lightning which now and then illumined the forest. the heavy rains had transformed the ground into a swamp. near the edge of the forest we halted and separated in squads of five. "by good luck i had charge of one squad. from under our overcoats we drew our spades and waited for the rain to slack. "'now, ed,' said the lieutenant, 'you take your men and select a spot and dig a rifle pit, and if anything comes in your way bang away at it, for things are getting hot.' "a few minutes more and the lieutenant and his party were gone. between two huge trees we began to dig, and in a few hours we had finished our pit. the boys tumbled in and all were soon asleep, except barry; he was a down-easter and had been through most of the campaigns. "the rain ceased falling, and no sound reached us save the pattering raindrops as the wind dislodged them from the trees. "i had scarcely taken forty winks, when barry poked me in the ribs. i awoke immediately. "'look there!' he whispered. "i looked over the pit and saw a small light swaying to and fro. i thought at first it was a will-o'-the-wisp. "'will i fire at it?' asked barry. "'you know your orders, don't you?' i replied. 'let us both fire at it.' both of our muskets were shoved over the top of the pit, and taking a hasty aim, we fired. "a loud yell followed the reports, and we saw the light fly upward and fall to the ground; then all was darkness, and the same quietness returned. "'i wonder is he dead?' was the question that arose; and then the boys returned to their corners and slumbered on. "soon the faint gray streaks of morning began to light up the east; and as i felt very thirsty i took my canteen, and clambered out of the pit, and started off. a few minutes' walk brought me to a small creek, and i filled my canteen and stooped to drink. the snapping of a twig caused me to look up; and my hair fairly raised, for not two yards from me stood a powerful man dressed in gray; he had pistols, a musket and an ugly-looking toothpick. a low chuckle came from his lips, and i gave myself up for lost, as i had not even so much as a penknife with me. in my eagerness to get water i forgot all. the confederate seemed to read me through, for he said: "'well, yank, have you got enough water?' "i managed to say 'yes'. "'well,' he said, 'get away from here, and think yourself lucky.' "it did not take me long to get away from that spot. then i noticed, for the first time, that our pit was dug on the top of a little hill. a few yards off on the other side of the creek stood a large barn. i could see forms walking about from where i now stood. the man i had met walked toward the barn. the boys in the pit saw him, and the muzzles of their guns frowned over the top in a minute. at that moment a detachment of men came to relieve us. they had hardly reached us, when from behind the barn a party of soldiers hove in sight, dragging a small fieldpiece, and in a moment more a crashing iron ball came tearing in our midst. with whoops and yells the enemy dashed on our little party, and we were soon engaged hand to hand. i felt myself hurled to the ground and a hand tightening about my throat. then the fear of death stole upon me, and the strength of a hercules took possession of my limbs. i turned my assailant over and placed my knee on his breast. "in vain i looked about for something to put an end to the struggling man whom i held, but could find nothing. in his belt i saw the handle of a knife. i seized it with one hand, but in doing so my grasp relaxed upon his throat, and before i could prevent it he had my finger in his mouth, and his teeth closed upon it. i fairly howled with pain and drove the knife into his heart several times. his jaws grew rigid in death and his teeth cut slowly to the bone and partly bit that, too. how i yelled! if it had been taken off at once the pain would have been nothing, but being bitten slowly off was intense. i had to pry open his jaws with the knife to get my finger out of his mouth." ed paused and the boys crowded about him, and the second finger was minus an inch. we all dispersed that night thinking there has been many an adventure that befell the brave boys of which the public will never know anything. migration of rats. in nearly all countries a seasonal movement of rats from houses and barns to the open fields occurs in spring, and the return movement takes place as cold weather approaches. the movement is noticeable even in large cities. more general movements of rats often occur. in 1903 a multitude of migrating rats spread over several counties of western illinois. they were noticed especially in mercer and rock island counties. for several years prior to this invasion no abnormal numbers were seen, and their coming was remarkably sudden. an eye-witness to the phenomenon informed the writer that as he was returning to his home by moonlight he heard a general rustling in the field near by, and soon a vast army of rats crossed the road in front of him, all going in one direction. the mass stretched away as far as could be seen in the dim light. these animals remained on the farms and in the villages of the surrounding country, and during the winter and summer of 1904 were a veritable plague. a local newspaper stated that between march 20 and april 20, 1904, f. u. montgomery, of preã«mption, mercer county, killed three thousand four hundred and thirty-five rats on his farm. he caught most of them in traps. in 1877 a similar migration occurred into parts of saline and lafayette counties, mo., and in 1904 another came under the writer's observation in kansas river valley. this valley for the most part was flooded by the great freshet of june, 1903, and for about ten days was covered with several feet of water. it is certain that most of the rats in the valley perished in this flood. in the fall of 1903 much of the district was visited by hordes of rats, which remained during the winter, and by the following spring had so increased in numbers that serious losses of grain and poultry resulted. no doubt the majority of the so-called migrations of rodents are in reality instances of unusual reproduction or of enforced migration owing to lack of food. in england a general movement of rats inland from the coast occurs every october. this is closely connected with the closing of the herring season. during the fishing the rodents swarm to the coast, attracted by the offal left from cleaning the herring, and when this food supply fails they hasten back to the farms and villages. in south america periodic plagues of rats have taken place in parana, brazil, at intervals of about thirty years, and in chili at intervals of from fifteen to twenty-five years. these plagues in the cultivated lands follow the ripening and decay of the dominant species of bamboo in each country. the ripening of the seed furnishes for two or more years a favorite food for rats in the forests, where the animals multiply greatly; when this food fails they are forced to the cultivated districts for subsistence. in 1878 almost the entire crops of corn, rice, and mandioca in the state of parana were destroyed by rats, causing a serious famine. an invasion of black rats in the bermuda islands occurred about the year 1615. in a space of two years they had increased so alarmingly that none of the islands was free from them. the rodents devoured everything which came in their way--fruit, plants, and even trees--so that for two years the people were destitute of bread. a law was passed requiring every man in the islands to set twelve traps. in spite of all efforts the animals increased, until they finally disappeared with a suddenness which could have resulted only from a pestilence. some great catastrophes. "it is the general opinion that earthquakes constitute the most terrible of the world's catastrophes, both as regards loss of life and destruction of property," says an english writer. "this, however, is not so. the convulsion in southern italy killed not less than two hundred thousand people, and in this respect it is easily the most dreadful occurrence of its kind. the historic lisbon earthquake, which ranks next below it in regard to the number of fatalities, caused fifty thousand deaths in that one city alone and about an equal number elsewhere. the south american one of 1867 was responsible for thirty thousand. that which destroyed aleppo in 1822 slew twenty thousand. these are the four worst earthquakes concerning which anything like reliable statistics are obtainable, and the total combined loss of life, it will be observed, did not, at any rate, exceed three hundred and fifty thousand. "but when the yellow river burst its banks in september, 1887, more than seven million people were drowned in the resultant great flood, which covered to an average depth of six feet a populous chinese province the size of scotland. thus, in this one catastrophe, more lives were lost than in all the earthquakes recorded in the world's history. then, again, there is pestilence. the black death killed in china, where it broke out, thirteen million people; in the rest of asia, twenty-four million, and thirty million in europe, or sixty-seven million in all. in india alone, and that within the past twelve years, bubonic plague has slain over six million people, and the epidemic still rages. "famines run plagues a close second. the one that raged in bombay and madras in 1877 slew five million people; and that which prevailed in northern china in the same year, and which was due to the same climatic causes, cost nine million five hundred thousand lives." latest issues motor stories the latest and best five-cent weekly. we won't say how interesting it is. see for yourself. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, 5 cents.= 20--motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. 21--motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. 22--motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. 23--motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. 24--motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. 25--motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. 26--motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. 27--motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. 28--motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. 29--motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new rã´le. 30--motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. 31--motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. 32--motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. 33--motor matt's mission; or, the taxicab tangle. tip top weekly the most popular publication for boys. the adventures of frank and dick merriwell can be had only in this weekly. =high art colored covers. thirty-two pages. price, 5 cents.= 691--dick merriwell's dandies; or, a surprise for the cowboy nine. 692--dick merriwell's "skyscooter"; or, professor pagan and the "princess." 693--dick merriwell in the elk mountains; or, the search for "dead injun" mine. 694--dick merriwell in utah; or, the road to "promised land." 695--dick merriwell's bluff; or, the boy who ran away. 696--dick merriwell in the saddle; or, the bunch from the bar-z. 697--dick merriwell's ranch friends; or, sport on the range. 698--frank merriwell at phantom lake; or, the mystery of the mad doctor. 699--frank merriwell's hold-back; or, the boys of bristol. 700--frank merriwell's lively lads; or, the rival campers. 701--frank merriwell as instructor; or, the skill of the wizard. 702--dick merriwell's cayuse; or, the star of the big range. 703--dick merriwell's quirt; or, the sting of the lash. 704--dick merriwell's freshman friend; or, a question of manhood. nick carter weekly the best detective stories on earth. nick carter's exploits are read the world over. =high art colored covers. thirty-two big pages. price, 5 cents.= 652--the green box clue; or, nick carter's good friend. 653--the taxicab mystery; or, nick carter closes a deal. 654--the mystery of a hotel room; or, nick carter's best work. 655--the tragedy of the well; or, nick carter under suspicion. 656--the black hand; or, chick carter's well-laid plot. 657--the black hand nemesis; or, chick carter and the mysterious woman. 658--a masterly trick; or, chick and the beautiful italian. 659--a dangerous man; or, nick carter and the famous castor case. 660--castor the poisoner; or, nick carter wins a man. 661--the castor riddle; or, nick carter's search for a hidden fortune. 662--a tragedy of the bowery; or, nick carter and ida at coney island. 663--four scraps of paper; or, nick carter's coney island search. 664--the secret of the mine; or, nick carter's coney island mystery. 665--the dead man in the car; or, nick carter's hair line clue. 666--nick carter's master struggle; or, the battle with the man-monkey. 667--the airshaft spectre; or, nick carter's shrewd surmise. _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, 79-89 seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _190_ _street & smith, 79-89 seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: 1--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. 2--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. 3--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. 4--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." 5--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. 6--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. 7--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. 8--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. 9--motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. 10--motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. 11--motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. 12--motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. 13--motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. 14--motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." 15--motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." 16--motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. 17--motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. 18--motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. 19--motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. 20--motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. 21--motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. 22--motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. 23--motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. 24--motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. 25--motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. 26--motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. 27--motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. 28--motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. to be published on september 6th. 29--motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new role. to be published on september 13th. 30--motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. to be published on september 20th. 31--motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. to be published on september 27th. 32--motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york _for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_ street & smith, publishers, 79-89 seventh avenue, new york =if you want any back numbers= of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct. fill out the following order blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. =postage stamps taken the same as money.= ________________________ _190_ _street & smith, 79-89 seventh avenue, new york city._ _dear sirs: enclosed please find_ ___________________________ _cents for which send me_: tip top weekly, nos. ________________________________ nick carter weekly, " ________________________________ diamond dick weekly, " ________________________________ buffalo bill stories, " ________________________________ brave and bold weekly, " ________________________________ motor stories, " ________________________________ _name_ ________________ _street_ ________________ _city_ ________________ _state_ ________________ a great success!! motor stories every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of motor matt, which are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and delighted. surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of the stories, second only to those published in the tip top weekly. matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them. _here are the titles now ready and those to be published_: 1--motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. 2--motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. 3--motor matt's century run; or, the governor's courier. 4--motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the "comet." 5--motor matt's mystery; or, foiling a secret plot. 6--motor matt's red flier; or, on the high gear. 7--motor matt's clue; or, the phantom auto. 8--motor matt's triumph; or, three speeds forward. 9--motor matt's air ship; or, the rival inventors. 10--motor matt's hard luck; or, the balloon house plot. 11--motor matt's daring rescue; or, the strange case of helen brady. 12--motor matt's peril; or, cast away in the bahamas. 13--motor matt's queer find; or, the secret of the iron chest. 14--motor matt's promise; or, the wreck of the "hawk." 15--motor matt's submarine; or, the strange cruise of the "grampus." 16--motor matt's quest; or, three chums in strange waters. 17--motor matt's close call; or, the snare of don carlos. 18--motor matt in brazil; or, under the amazon. 19--motor matt's defiance; or, around the horn. 20--motor matt makes good; or, another victory for the motor boys. 21--motor matt's launch; or, a friend in need. 22--motor matt's enemies; or, a struggle for the right. 23--motor matt's prize; or, the pluck that wins. 24--motor matt on the wing; or, flying for fame and fortune. 25--motor matt's reverse; or, caught in a losing game. 26--motor matt's "make or break"; or, advancing the spark of friendship. 27--motor matt's engagement; or, on the road with a show. 28--motor matt's "short circuit"; or, the mahout's vow. to be published on september 6th. 29--motor matt's make-up; or, playing a new role. to be published on september 13th. 30--motor matt's mandarin; or, turning a trick for tsan ti. to be published on september 20th. 31--motor matt's mariner; or, filling the bill for bunce. to be published on september 27th. 32--motor matt's double-trouble; or, the last of the hoodoo. price, five cents at all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt of the price. street & smith, _publishers_, new york transcriber's notes: added table of contents. italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=. page 3, changed "come, on then" to "come on, then." page 4, added missing period after "asked pardo." page 7, corrected "mat" to "matt" in "matt continued to sit." corrected "let's some one else" to "let some one else." page 8, corrected typo "mardarin" in "bluff us out of helping the mandarin." page 9, corrected "mat" to "matt" in "matt and i will put the kibosh." page 13, corrected typo "tellling" in "no telling when the pallavering." page 14, corrected typo "folowing" in "excitement following bunce's discovery." corrected typo "gardenvile" in "between the spring and gardenville." page 15, expanded ligature in "manoeuvre." ligature is retained in html version. page 18, corrected typo "flutering" in "fluttering his hand reassuringly." corrected "spiritsails" to "spritsails." page 21, corrected typo "your'" in "while you're tied up." page 23, corrected typo "boad" in "marsh on one side of the road." page 25, added missing period after "kept at his work." page 29, removed unnecessary quotes around paragraph beginning "they believed that america tapered..." available by villanova university digital library (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrated book cover. see 46257-h.htm or 46257-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46257/46257-h/46257-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/46257/46257-h.zip) images of the original pages are available through villanova university digital library. see http://digital.library.villanova.edu/item/vudl:300153 transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). 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 [illustration: _"steady!" cried motor matt, reaching for the head of the runaway horse._] 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. 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 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, phoenix, a. t. this address was in ink, but the "james mcready" had been scratched out and the name of "mark mcready" penciled above it. 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 phoenix, and matt knew, from personal observation, that he was both tricky and unscrupulous. during the recent phoenix-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 phoenix, 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 phoenix.[a] [a] see motor matt weekly no. 1 for an account of matt's exciting dash of twenty miles from the hills into phoenix, 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." "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. "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 phoenix 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 phoenix 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 phoenix after any more. a prospector named jacks--grub-staked by hawley, of phoenix--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 phoenix 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. "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 phoenix 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 phoenix 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. "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 phoenix mountains, _si_. i come dat way two day ago, and some mans he geeve me de letter, and say i bring him by phoenix 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 phoenix 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. "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 phoenix when they crossed a new plank bridge over the arizona canal, fifteen miles out. "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 phoenix 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 phoenix 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 phoenix 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 phoenix." "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 place where they had left their motor-cycles. "there's a lot of shady characters in these parts," chub went on, "who wouldn't pass up a ten-dollar bill if dirk hawley wanted any crooked work done. hawley's friends are mainly among that class." "bad as he is, though," said matt, "there are some good things about the gambler. they say he has a daughter in school in 'frisco, and that he keeps her there so that neither she nor her friends will find out what sort of a man he is." "that's edith hawley you're talkin' about, matt. i've heard the same yarn, but if hawley's keeping the girl in 'frisco an' tryin' to make her and her friends think he's a saint, he's going to get fooled. the girl's here on a visit, and if she's as bright as they say, she'll find out that----" the words died on chub's lips. he and matt had rounded the corner of the house, and had come to a halt facing the spot where they had left their machines. _the motor-cycles were not there!_ "stung!" gasped chub, staring at his chum in consternation. "am i in a trance? didn't we leave our machines here, matt?" "we did," answered matt excitedly, "and they're gone." "somebody must have come here an' rode 'em off while we were in the mine!" cried chub. "more of hawley's work, and i'll bet my hat on it. he's got us now. that's the one thing he could do that would knock us out entirely. oh, what a pair of dubs we were!" chub, in despair, dropped over against the side of the house and banged at the adobe wall with his clenched fists. matt, after a moment's thought, darted away toward the road. "where you goin', matt?" cried chub. "to see which way the thieves went," called back motor matt. "what's the use? think we could overhaul 'em on foot? this is where johnny hardluck puts us down and out, an' no mistake!" chub, terribly cast down, continued to lean against the house and say things to himself. he watched matt absently as he ran up and down the road, reading the signs left in the dust. suddenly matt halted, turned sharply about, and called to chub. "we've got a fighting chance!" he yelled, peeling off his coat and casting it by the roadside. "strip, chub, and unlimber those short legs of yours. there's a good hard run ahead of us." the bewildered chub got out of his coat and dropped it where he stood, then he started in motor matt's direction, wandering what was in the wind. how were the two of them, on foot, ever going to catch up with the motor-cycles? chapter vi. overhauling the thief. matt, headed in the direction of the canal and phoenix, set the pace. it was a fast one, and chub was blowing before they had covered a hundred yards. "if you want me to travel with you," puffed chub, "you'll have to be a little less hasty. what's the good, anyhow? those motor-cycles are going a dozen feet to our one." matt pulled down to a dog-trot in order to explain and to give chub a chance to get back his wind. "you're wrong, chub," said he. "even at this rate, we're traveling faster than the motor-cycles, or at least as fast." "the thieves can't be in much of a hurry to get away." "no one is riding the motor-cycles. there are only two motor-cycle tracks leading this way, and we made 'em ourselves when we rode to the bluebell." "mebby the thieves went the other way?" "no tracks on the other part of the road at all." chub dropped his eyes to the road and scanned it as he jogged along. the marks left by the pneumatic tires of the motor-cycles could be clearly seen; and on either side of them was a heavier mark. "put me wise to it, matt. has a wagon been along here since we got to the bluebell?" gasped chub. "a broad-tired freight-wagon from some of the mines," added matt. "there were four horses hitched to it and it was going to phoenix." "oh, slush!" exclaimed chub admiringly. "you've hit it off straight as a die, matt. why, thick-headed as i am, i can count the hoof-tracks of the horses and see which way they were headed, now that you've given me the tip. but what has the freight-wagon got to do with the machines?" "the wagon stopped close to the house on the bluebell," went on matt. "i could tell that by the way the hoof-tracks were all cluttered up. and then, too, around the place where the wagon stopped there were boot-marks. it's a cinch the freighter took our machines." "it can't be that freighter is graftin' on his own hook, matt, an' yet i'm a navajo if i can see how hawley ever put it up to have him run off with the wheels. i don't believe the gambler is keepin' track of us as close as all that." "the freighter has the two machines," averred matt. "why he took 'em needn't bother us very much just now; we know they're in his wagon, and that's the principal thing. it's up to us to get the motor-cycles back. a four-horse freight-wagon, even when it's empty, can't travel very fast. about all we've got to do is to outrun the gait of a walking horse. the faster we beat it, the quicker we reach the wagon." "it looks good to me," said chub. "say, i would have been up in the air, wouldn't i, if you hadn't been along? but for this mix-up in the hills, you'd have been starting for denver." "i was going to start for denver to-morrow," returned matt, "but i'm not particular about a thing like that, chub, when my friends need me." "true to your friends always, eh?" said chub, his blue eyes glistening. "no wonder motor matt makes a hit with everybody." "and connects with a few hits himself, now and then," added matt dryly. "how about another spurt, chub? that wagon didn't have much the start of us, and when we get to the top of the next 'rise,' i think we ought to see it." "spurt away! my legs are too short for sprinting, but i'll work 'em the best i can." elbows close to his sides, head up and shoulders back, matt dug out once more. chub rambled along beside him and bounced up the slight ascent. from over the "rise," and before they reached the top of it, the boys could hear the creaking of a heavy wagon, and the hoarse voice of a driver swearing at his horses. a few moments more and they were looking breathlessly down on the freighting outfit, trekking slowly phoenixward and not more than a hundred feet from where they were standing. there was one red-shirted, rough-looking man on the driver's seat--just one. the freighter had a long black-snake whip, and was snapping it about the ears of the leaders. but what appealed to the boys most was what they saw in the rear of the wagon. from their elevated position they were able to look down into the high box of the vehicle. evidently the freighter was going "empty" into phoenix after supplies for some mining-camp; but there was more in the box than there had been when it started from the mine, for the two motor-cycles were there, lashed with ropes to the sides of the high box. "there he is!" panted chub, "and thank our stars there's only one. but if he gets hostile--and if he happens to have a gun----" "peaceful freighters are not carrying guns," said matt, "and if he gets hostile--well, there are two of us." "sure," cackled chub, "and if we have a set-to, matt, you can count on me to make a noise like a prize-fighter, anyhow." the freighter's conscience did not appear to trouble him in the least, for he was not paying the slightest attention to the trail behind him. with one foot on the brake, he was whoa-hawing his four-horse team and talking like a pirate. matt and chub ran swiftly down the slope. when they were close to the wagon, matt swerved to pass around it and get to the heads of the horses, while chub, getting suddenly reckless, jumped up on the end of the "reach" and slammed into the end gate. the noise chub made drew the freighter's attention. the man turned and gave a savage yell when he saw chub. "git off'n thar, you!" he whooped, and with the words his long whip leaped backward in a sinuous coil. _snap!_ went the lash, like the report of a pistol, and chub tumbled into the road, holding both hands to the side of his throat. matt's temper began to mount at the brutal way chub was treated. the incident, while unpleasant for chub, afforded matt time to pass the man and gain the heads of the leaders of the team. "stop!" he shouted, grabbing the bits of the horses and pushing them back on the "wheelers." the freighter had already clamped the brake-shoes to the wheels, so that the wagon, although on a slope, did not run down on the wheel-horses. taking his attention from chub, the man turned in the seat and glared at matt. "git away from them hosses!" he shouted, jumping to his feet, with the whip in his hand. "git away, i tell ye, or i'll snap out one o' yer eyes with this here whip-lash. i kin do it--don't you never think i can't." "you'd better cool down," cautioned matt, his gray eyes glimmering, "if you don't want to get into more trouble than you can take care of." "i ain't goin' ter take none o' yer back-talk, nuther," whooped the man. "le'go them bits!" he began lifting the handle of the whip, preparatory to using the lash. "you've got two motor-cycles in the back of your wagon," said matt, keeping wary watch of the freighter, "and they belong to my chum and me. what business have you got taking them off?" "belong to you, eh? well, i reckon not. young perry told me they belonged ter him an' a pard o' his, an' he tucked a dollar bill inter my hand fer takin' 'em ter town." matt was astonished at this piece of information. "where did you see perry?" he demanded. "i don't know as i got ter palaver with you, but i don't mind sayin' that young perry was on a hoss clost ter the house on the bluebell as i come by. he stopped me an' told me ter take in the machines, jest as i was tellin' ye. now, drop them bits, or thar's goin' ter be trouble." "say," called matt earnestly, "you've been fooled. perry don't own those machines, but was---" "perry's a friend o' hawley's, an' hawley is a friend o' mine," roared the freighter, "an' i'm takin' his word agin' your'n. git away from thar. last call!" matt did not get away. a second more and the whip-lash leaped at him between the heads of the leaders. quick as a flash he ducked to one side, and the lash snapped harmlessly in the air. then, as the lash flickered for an instant on the neck-yoke, matt executed another quick move. reaching out, he caught the end of the writhing whip firmly, and gave it a jerk, in the hope of pulling it out of the freighter's hands. what happened was more than matt had expected. the whip did not come away, but the freighter was toppled out of the wagon-box and took a header earthward alongside the off wheel-horse. he gave a convulsive movement and then became quiet. "you've killed him, matt!" cried chub frantically. "rot!" flung back motor matt, hurrying around to where the freighter was lying and hauling him away from the hoofs of the horses. "he's just stunned, that's all. jump into the wagon, chub, and untie the wheels. when you're ready, i'll help you get them into the road. sharp's the word now, old chap. i'll watch the freighter while you're working with the machines." chub, chuckling to himself over the neat way fortune was coming to their aid, once more climbed into the wagon. matt, noticing a movement on the part of the freighter that told of returning consciousness, drew his big, ham-like hands behind him and twined the whip-lash about the wrists. it was well matt took this precaution, for, a moment after the tying was completed, the man's eyes opened. "tryin' ter kill me, was ye?" he snarled. "not at all," said matt coolly. "i was trying to take the whip away from you, and you fell out of the wagon." "all ready, matt!" called chub. matt whirled away from the freighter, to help chub get the motor-cycles down. hardly were the two machines on the ground, when the boys heard the freighter yell and saw him charge toward them. it had been impossible for matt to tie his hands securely with the whip, and he had freed himself and was hustling toward the rear of the wagon, to intercept the boys and prevent them from getting away. "quick, chub!" yelled matt. "get into the saddle and let your machine out for all it's worth. we've lost too much time as it is." there followed a wild scramble, a half-dozen revolutions of the pedals, and then the motors began to work. the two machines glided up the slope, leaving the baffled and swearing freighter far behind. chapter vii. back to the bluebell. "nothin' hard about that!" gloried chub, taking a look over his shoulder from the top of the "rise." "mister man had a little surprise-party sprung on him that trip. now it's down-hill--see us scratch gravel here! you're the clear quill, matt. the way you worked through that trick was some fine!" "luck," answered motor matt. "it's bound to come a fellow's way now and then. tie something around the side of your throat, chub. that whip-lash knocked off a piece of skin." "felt like it had knocked off my head, at first. i'll tie it up when we get back to the bluebell." "what's the good of stopping at the bluebell? dace perry is somewhere ahead of us on a horse. you heard what the freighter said about perry?" "there didn't any of that get away from me, matt. gee! but that was somethin' of a jolt. if perry smashed that wireless machine in phoenix, he didn't waste any time coverin' the twenty miles between there and the bluebell." "he must have reached the mine while we were down in the workings, looking for delray. he saw the two motor-cycles leaning against the wall of the house, and he didn't have to guess very hard to know who was around. the freighter came along just at the right time--for perry." "funny thing to me, matt, that perry didn't slash the tires." "probably he didn't have any too much time. besides, he might have thought we could fix the tires, while if the motor-cycles were sent on to phoenix, we'd be a lot worse off than if we had the crippled machines." "hawley's mighty clever--and don't you let that get past your guard for a minute! whenever he lays out to do a thing, he's right on the job from start to finish. what d'you suppose he's sent dace perry out here for?" "the way i size it up, hawley wants to get some word to jacks. perry must have been on his way to the hills when he stopped off at your place, chub, and smashed the wireless instruments. the way we got hold of that letter on the bridge has raised trouble with hawley's plans, and now he's rushing things for a quick finish. that means that we've got to hustle, too, if we save the 'strike' for the mcreadys!" "well, i guess we can. you're a reg'lar whirlwind, matt, when you start the gasoline and switch on the spark. i'm not built for rapid work, but i guess i'll do with you for pacemaker. but see here, why didn't we pass perry on the road? he left phoenix before we did, and got to the bluebell behind us--and he had to come the black cañon road." matt had been thinking of that. "it's a cinch we had to pass him, chub," said he, "and we probably did it in the hills this side of the canal. if he saw us coming, it would be easy for him to duck out of the way among the rocks." "that's what he did!" declared chub. "he had some reason to expect we'd be at the bluebell." "and after helping load our machines into the wagon," continued matt, "he spurred off to find jacks and tell him we were on the way with the location notices." a grave look crossed matt's face. "something's going to happen at the 'strike,' and we better not stop at the bluebell any longer than it takes to snatch up our coats." they were now close to the bluebell again, and were surprised to see a man run out of the house and wave a hand in their direction. "it's del!" cried chub. "he's got back from wherever he was just in time to miss the fun." "he's making a dead set for us," added matt, "and is bringing our coats." "great glory!" exclaimed the watchman, as he drew near the place where the boys had stopped, "i've been doing a pile of guessing ever since i picked up these coats. what did you leave 'em for?" "we haven't got much time to talk, del," answered matt. "while we were in the mine looking for you, dace perry rode up on horseback, and a man in a freight-wagon happened along at the same time. perry hired the man to carry our machines to phoenix, and chub and i sprinted after him and got them back. that's how we happened to leave our coats." "well, i'm blamed!" muttered delray. "there's been a lot of strange doings around here. this morning, while i was off to the spring getting some water, some one sneaked into the house and smashed the wireless instruments. what's goin' on, anyhow? why should dace perry try to take the motor-cycles away from you? same old grouch, or is it something new?" "have you heard anythin' from dad, del?" put in chub anxiously. "no. was he expecting to drop in here?" "i got a letter from him sayin' he might, just to send me a wireless message. he's five miles northwest of here," and chub went on briefly to tell of his father's "strike," the impending trouble with jacks, and what hawley was trying to do. "that gambler seems to be botherin' you boys a whole lot lately," remarked delray. "if you've got those location blanks, chub, you and matt'd better hike right on and help your father out of his difficulty before it gets any worse. and keep your eyes open, too. you've both had experience with hawley, and know the kind of a man he is. if i can help you any here, count on me." "we'll pull right out, del," answered chub. "where were you when we were going through the mine?" "taking a little _pasear_ through the hills, trying to see if i could locate the scoundrel that smashed the wireless instruments. you know how to get to the old pack-trail?" "i was over part of it with dad once." "then hustle--and don't forget to keep your eyes skinned. i've got a gun in the house if you'd like to borry it." the boys were away before the last suggestion reached them, and matt did not think it worth while to turn back. about a quarter of a mile north of the bluebell, at a place where the black cañon road ran through a small _barranca_, the boys came to the old pack-trail. a gully cut through the walls of the _barranca_ at a sharp angle, and the pack-trail followed the bottom of the depression. "here's where we leave the main road, matt," announced chub. "that old trail ain't much more than a bridle-path, an' i don't know what sort of work our machines are going to make on it, but we'll go ahead and see." "sure," said matt. "if perry could get over the pack-trail on a horse, i guess we can get over it on our wheels." "i'll take the lead," went on chub, turning into the gully. "i don't know such a terrible lot about the trail, matt, but i've been over a little of it, and that's more than you have." "all right, chub," assented matt, falling behind. "keep a good watch ahead. if you see jacks blocking the path, don't run into him, that's all." the old trail had never been used for wagons, but had been exclusively given over to pack-burros. consequently it was narrow, and there were places where bunches of cactus grew so close that the boys had to leave their saddles and trundle their machines past by hand, in order to keep the sharp spines from puncturing the tires. when the cactus bunches ceased to bother, the pack-trail swung into rocky ground, and the boys had to do some hair-raising stunts in following a bit of shelf with a sheer drop of thirty or forty feet on one side of them and a straight up-and-down wall on the other. at last the trail climbed over a ridge and into easier ground. huge piles of rocks flanked both sides of the way, but the going was smooth and level. while they were passing through this strip of country, matt suddenly heard voices behind him and to the left of the trail. the voices came from a considerable distance, and were muffled and indistinct, but matt heard them plainly enough. "chub!" he called in a guarded tone, "ride around that pile of rocks on the left. some one's coming behind us and we'd better wait and see who it is." without pausing to ask any useless questions, chub swerved from the trail and guided his motor-cycle around the heap of boulders referred to by matt. matt followed him, and they screened themselves and their wheels as well as they could and peered curiously back along the trail. chapter viii. too late! as the boys breathlessly watched, they saw a burro emerge from among the rocks on the left of the trail. there was no load on the burro's back, and the shaggy little animal was being driven by two ruffianly-looking men. one of the men had a club, and every once in a while he would reach over and hit the burro a heavy blow. the burro would flinch and leap ahead; then, apparently forgetting what had happened, would lag again and the blow would be repeated. "the brute!" muttered chub. "two brutes besides the burro," whispered matt, "if i'm any judge of faces. listen!" the men had headed the burro along the trail, and would soon pass the point where matt and chub were hiding. they continued to talk as they approached. evidently they were well pleased over something, for occasionally one of them would give a hoarse laugh. "hawley ort ter pay me well fer this," said one of the scoundrels. "you git half the claim, jacks, purvidin' hawley don't beat ye out o' it, but i'm only gittin' what i airn." "don't ye be in no takin', bisbee, erbout hawley beatin' me out o' my share in the 'strike,'" replied jacks. "he's an' ole fox, but he ain't no more of a fox'n what i am." "waal, i kin split on his game if he don't treat me right," scowled bisbee; "i kin tell about smashin' that machine at the bluebell this mornin', on my way out yar, an' i kin tell about what we done at the ole santa maria, with----" at that interesting point the two rascals passed out of ear-shot. chub, awed by what they had heard, stared excitedly at matt. "one of 'em was jacks!" he muttered; "the four-flush with the club was the prospector who was threatenin' dad with trouble!" "and the other's name is bisbee," said matt, "and he came out here this morning and smashed that wireless apparatus on his way. hawley didn't lose much time getting busy after perry gave him that letter!" "they're goin' after dad now, that's a cinch!" exclaimed chub. "let's follow 'em right up, matt, an' have a hand in what happens--that is, if anything is goin' to happen. i guess dad and you and me can take care of those two handy boys, all right." by that time the two men and the burro were well out of sight, and the boys, mounting their machines, started slowly after them, working laboriously at the pedals, so that their presence in the vicinity might not be betrayed by the volleying of explosions. as they proceeded, the rocks gradually disappeared from the sides of the trail and the country flattened into a level mesa. to the astonishment of matt and chub, nothing was to be seen of the two men on this level stretch. "where'd they go?" queried the puzzled chub, stopping his machine for a few words with his chum. "they must have left the trail again, back somewhere among the rocks," replied matt. "then maybe we're off the track," suggested chub anxiously. "if jacks and bisbee were going to the scene of dad's 'strike,' why----" "we're not off the track," interrupted motor matt. "look over there, chub!" matt pointed as he spoke. chub, following his chum's finger with his eyes, saw a dun-colored peak rising to the left of the trail, and half-way up the side of the uplift, the sun glimmered on a couple of intersecting lines that formed a cross. "the white cross!" whispered chub. "we're headed right, matt, and no mistake. but where in sam hill are bisbee and jacks? if they weren't coming here, where _were_ they goin'? put me wise." "let's stop fretting about bisbee and jacks. the fortune of the mcreadys lies over there, at the foot of that peak, and now's our chance to cinch it." the words sent a thrill through chub. once more he remembered what this "strike" might mean to his father, and susie and himself. their years in arizona had been lean enough, and all of them had felt the bitter pinch of poverty. now, suddenly, fortune had shown them her smile, and if they were to profit by it, they must beat down the evil schemes of the gambler. hawley and his confederates alone stood between the mcreadys and the goal toward which the prospector had been struggling for so long. with a bounding heart chub turned from the trail and headed straight for the white cross on the peak. "it takes you to ginger a fellow up, matt!" cried chub. "dad's claim is almost in sight, and it won't be long before we're racing back to phoenix with a location notice. i was beginnin' to feel discouraged, an' that's a fact, but i'm right on my toes now and sure we're goin' to win. hurrah for the mcready strike!" there was no trail where the boys were riding, but the ground was smooth and level and there was nothing to prevent them from making good speed. only a quarter of a mile lay between the pack-trail and the claim, and the distance was soon covered. "there are the monuments!" called chub, waving his hand. matt looked ahead and saw a collection of stones. there were five of these piles, four standing at the corners of an oblong square, and marking the limits of the claim. in the center of the square was a heap as large as two of the others, and chub kept on toward it. as matt followed, he saw that this large heap of stones had a short pole protruding from the middle. a board was fastened to the top of the pole, and there was a square, white paper tacked to the board. when chub reached the center monument he tumbled off his motor-cycle in the midst of a rude little camp. a pack-saddle lay on the ground, and near it was a canvas-wrapped bundle. a pile of wood was heaped near some smoke-blackened stones, and to one side were a dingy coffee-pot and a skillet. "dad's camp!" muttered chub. "he bunked right down by his center monument and was bound jacks shouldn't get the best of him. plucky old dad!" chub's voice trembled a little. "he's fought hard for this, matt--nobody, not even susie and me, knows how hard." "it's a long lane, chub," said matt, "that has no turning. hard luck can't dog a fellow always. is that your father's pack-burro?" chub looked in the direction matt was pointing. off beyond the confines of the claim, a burro was grazing on the mesquit-bushes. a small spring was close by. the burro was hobbled so that he could not stray far from the camp. "sure enough!" laughed chub; "that's old baldy himself. when we come into our money, we'll put baldy in a gold barn and let him stuff his old hide with patent breakfast-food." "maybe baldy'll like that," laughed matt, "and maybe he won't." "anyhow," grinned chub, "he looks like he could stand a little stuffing with just plain hay. he's helped dad through the hills for the last five years--the two of them have gone thirsty and hungry together, and knocked into more hardships and out of them again than anybody'll ever know. but right here's where they win. look at that 'blow-out,' will you, matt?" by "blow-out," chub meant a lot of white quartz that was littering the ground in every direction. he picked up a piece and held it under matt's eyes. the stone was flecked with little yellow grains. "gold!" cried chub; "the rock's just full of it. say, it's a wonder this claim's laid here as long as it has. i'll bet that dozens of prospectors have been around it--but it was dad that found 'er! whoop-ee!" chub jerked off his cap suddenly and hurled it into the air; then, in the excess of his joy, he caught hold of matt and whirled him around and around in the wildest kind of a dance. but there were some things about the situation which matt couldn't understand. he hated to throw any cold water on chub's effusive spirits, and yet he knew that they ought to probe to the bottom of the situation. "where's your father, chub?" matt inquired, as his chum let loose of him. "why, he must have set out for phoenix to file the duplicate location notice," replied chub, sitting down on the side of the rock pile. "you see, matt, that letter was five days gettin' to us. hawley had it for a day, and the mexican must have had it longer than he admitted, or else dad was wrong in his dates when he wrote it. i guess dad got tired waiting for me to come out, and so he began to scratch gravel for phoenix on his own hook." matt was wondering why jacks and bisbee had appeared so delighted during their talk on the pack-trail. from their manner, and what they had said, he had got the idea that they had accomplished something for hawley. "i thought your father didn't have any location blanks," went on matt, "and that he wanted you to come and bring them." "he must have found some blanks somewhere," returned chub. "did he have a horse with him, besides the burro?" chub stared. "why, no, matt," said he. "prospectors don't ride. they just walk, an' drive their pack-burros ahead of them." "your father only had one burro?" "that's all. what's buzzin' around in your nut, anyway, matt?" "i'm wondering why your father should pull out for phoenix and leave old baldy behind. he wouldn't walk all the way to town, would he, and leave the burro and his camp-truck here?" the words startled chub. a look of alarm drove all the joy out of his freckled face. "oh, slush! that's me, all right!" he muttered. "i'm goin' off half-cocked, as per usual. there's a whole lot of things i'm forgettin'. for instance, that talk we overheard between jacks and bisbee. that lacked a good deal of being encouraging to the mcreadys. and then, again, where's dace perry? he ought to be around here somewhere, but i'm not seeing much of him. anyhow," and chub looked up at the board on top of the pole, "dad found his location notice somewhere, and we can't be euchred out of the claim." "look at the notice, chub," suggested matt. "see what sort of a name your father gave the claim." "i'll make a guess that it's 'mcready's pride,' or 'mcready's hope,' or something like that," said chub, climbing to the top of the rock pile. hanging to the pole, he brought his eyes close to the notice. matt saw his hands grip the pole hard, while a cry of savage disappointment escaped his lips. "what's wrong?" asked matt. chub looked down dazedly at his chum. "why--why," he faltered huskily, "dad didn't put up this notice at all. the claim is named the 'pauper's dream,' and the locators are down as 'jacks and hawley.'" "jacks and hawley?" echoed matt. "yes," roared chub, grabbing the notice and jerking it fiercely off the board, "the gambler's won out on us, matt. jacks has put up his notice, and some one is now on the way to phoenix to file a duplicate." chub tumbled off the rock pile, sat on the ground at the foot of it, and covered his face with his hands. "we got here, old fellow," said chub brokenly, "but we got here _too late_!" a wave of consternation rolled over matt. he had been fearing that something was wrong, but up to this moment he hadn't entertained the least notion that hawley's dastardly plans had already succeeded. "and the worst of it is, matt," whispered chub, looking up, "we don't know anything about dad. what have they done with him?" chapter ix. held at bay. "don't worry about your father, chub," said matt. "hawley will steal this claim if he can, but it's a cinch he'll do it in such a way the law can't get a hold on him. your father has been trapped in some way, in order to get him off the claim so jacks could put up his own location notice. you can be sure, though, that jacks hasn't done anything very desperate. brace up, old chap!" "i can't," groaned chub. "it's back to the woods for me. the gimp has all been taken out of me. everybody in phoenix always has a joke to crack at the mcreadys. they call dad a 'rainbow-chaser,' and say he never can find any pay-rock the way he potters around. and now he's lost this chance! maybe we'll never get another." "look here, chub," said matt, walking over to his chum and pulling him to his feet, "you're not a quitter and never have been. don't try to be one now. pull yourself together and face the music. _there's a chance yet!_ but you're not going to help that chance any by acting like this." "chance?" repeated chub dully, lifting his hopeless, freckled face to matt's. "yes. you've got two location notices. fill 'em out. tack one on that board in place of the one you just pulled down, and we'll hustle the other one to the recorder's office in phoenix." "it's too late, i tell you!" insisted chub. "don't you understand what's been done? jacks tacked his own notice up, and perry is already on the way to phoenix with a duplicate." "perry hadn't started, up to the time we got here," pursued matt quickly. "if he had started, he'd have had to pass us. but suppose he did; suppose he has two hours the start of us--why, he's riding a horse that has already done twenty-five miles to-day, and a _motor-cycle can beat him out_!" matt's hopefulness and splendid confidence electrified chub. "you're a chum worth having if any one asks you," he burst out. "you're right, matt; there is a chance yet, and this is no time to pull off any baby-act. i was rattled, that's all. the idea that a fortune had side-stepped the mcreadys had got onto my nerves. give me a pencil. hanged if i don't jump dad's claim myself, just to save it from jacks and hawley." chub was now all energy and determination. sitting down on the rocks once more, he took two folded blanks from his pocket and laid them over a smooth, flat stone in front of him. "we'll call this claim the 'make or break,'" he went on, taking the pencil from matt and beginning to fill in the blank spaces; "it's in the winnifred mining district, and it's located by mark mcready." "hold up, chub," interposed matt, "before you write your name down as the locator. you're several years this side of twenty-one. would that make any difference?" "it might," said chub thoughtfully. "it'll be safer to put in dad's name, and then we'll be sure not to get stung. i'll fill out the two of them; then, while i'm tacking one to the board, you can take the other and make a getaway for phoenix." "what are you going to do?" "i'm goin' to hang around here an' look for dad. you'll make a quicker run to town than you would if i was along with that one-cylinder machine, anyhow." matt, whose mind was busy with the conversation he and chub had overheard between jacks and bisbee, evolved a sudden idea. "is there a mine around here called the santa maria?" he asked. "seems to me i've heard of an old, played-out proposition by that name," answered chub. "why?" "do you remember what bisbee said to jacks while they were coming along the pack-trail? '_i can tell what we done at the old santa maria._' those were his words, chub, and i've got a hunch that that's the place to go and look for your father." "bully!" said chub. "you've got more horse-sense in a minute, matt king, than reddy mcready has in a year. get ready to hike, old chap. i'll have this for you in about a minute." "i'll go over to the spring and get a drink," answered matt, "and then i'll turn the _comet_ loose." the spring was some little distance away from the center monument where chub was doing his writing. matt hurried toward it, gave old baldy a friendly slap as he passed him, and then went down on his knees at the edge of the rocky pool. matt was feeling tolerably easy in his mind. he knew what the _comet_ could do, and in order to help his friends, the mcreadys, he would make the miles spin out from under the pneumatic tires as they had never done before. it is usually at just such a time as that, when one feels as though he is about to accomplish something really worth while, that the unexpected bobs up to play hob with all his well-laid plans. while matt was on his knees, refreshing himself with the cool spring-water, a wild yell came from chub. matt was on his feet in a jiffy, and whirled just in time to see chub take a header from the rock pile. he must have finished filling out the notices and climbed to the top of the center monument to tack one of them to the board, when the unexpected arrived. matt saw jacks on top of the stone heap, and it was he who had given chub the shove that landed him on his hands and knees at the bottom of the pile. chub got up angrily, and gathered in a scrap of paper that had dropped beside him; then he turned and faced the prospector, who was roaring and shaking his fist. "what d'ye mean, ye red-headed whelp, by tamperin' with my location notice? tryin' ter jump this here claim, hey? waal, you scatter, an' do it quick! if ye don't, i'll kick ye clean off'n the map!" jacks was not the only enemy that had come to work havoc with the plans of matt and chub. bisbee was there, also, and so--to matt's intense amazement--was dace perry. perry was standing beside a saddle-horse. the animal had been ridden hard and was plainly far gone with fatigue. jacks and bisbee, it now seemed to matt, had gone off somewhere among the rocks to meet perry. jacks probably had pitched a camp near-by, where he had stayed while watching chub's father; and, naturally, it would be to this camp that perry would go to meet the ruffian. having joined forces, all three of the plotters had advanced covertly upon matt and chub. matt ran forward, to place himself shoulder to shoulder with chub. perry saw him coming, and called bisbee's attention to him. "you stay whar ye aire!" yelled bisbee. as he gave the warning he lifted his hand, and matt saw the sun glimmer on a piece of blued steel. "git over thar ter whar yer friend is," ordered jacks, from the top of the stone pile. "we mean bizness right from the drop o' the hat, young feller, an' if that red skelp o' your'n is of any valley to ye, ye'll jump mighty prompt whenever i tune up!" chub held his ground, however, and matt continued to come on. "you're a pack of thieves," clamored chub, "that's what you are! you're trying to steal this claim away from my father, but we're going to fool you." "ye're mcready's son, aire ye?" yelped jacks. "waal, now, mcready tried ter steal this claim away from me, an' when i git back, along comes you an' makes a similar kind o' break. git away from here! my mad's up, an' i'm li'ble ter do ye damage. what's that ye got in yer hand? grab it away from him, bisbee, then kick him off'n the claim." bisbee executed a rush in chub's direction, but matt was close enough by then to push out a foot and throw the ruffian heavily. bisbee, swearing furiously, arose to his knees and leveled the weapon he still clutched in his fingers. before he could use it, jacks had scrambled down from the rock pile and caught his wrist. "none o' that, bisbee!" said jacks. "so long as the young whelps don't try ter interfere with us." matt and chub ran back a few steps. "it's the location notice, matt," chub whispered, "that i wanted you to take to town." "give it here, chub," returned matt, and took the paper and thrust it into the breast of his leather coat. "it's a location notice!" sang out perry. "i heard mcready tell king it was. better take it away from him." "i know a trick wuth two o' that," laughed jacks hoarsely. "kin you ride one o' them new-fangled bicycles, perry?" "yes," replied perry. "then pick out the best 'un an' ride fer phoenix with that notice o' mine." perry gave an exultant laugh and jumped for the _comet_. matt started forward. "keep away from that machine, perry!" he cried. "draw a bead on him, bisbee," said jacks. "if he tries ter keep perry from gittin' away, you know what ter do." the gleaming weapon arose to a level with bisbee's wicked little eyes, and matt halted uncertainly. the pounding of the _comet's_ motor was already in his ears, and perry was starting for the pack-trail. while matt stood there, wondering what he could possibly do, the _comet_ did something it had never done before. with a wheezy sputter, it stopped dead, refusing to answer the frantic twists perry gave the handle-bars. "thought ye said ye could run it?" scoffed jacks. "something's loose or broken," replied perry, leaping from the saddle and letting the machine drop. "the other belongs to ed penny and i know it better. i'll take that." a few moments later he was on the other motor-cycle and scurrying toward the trail. jacks turned on matt and chub with a taunting laugh. "i reckon you won't file no location notice ahead o' jacks an' hawley _this_ trip!" he yelled. chapter x. a daring escape. there had been so many ups and downs for chub during the few hours he and matt had been fighting for the claim that his discouragement now took a philosophical turn. "there goes our last chance, matt," said he, with a grim laugh. "it's what they call stealing your own thunder, ain't it, when a swift bunch of toughs act like that?" matt was mad clear through. his eyes snapped vindictively as he watched the exultant ruffians. "the recorder closes his office in phoenix at six o'clock?" he asked. "yes." "then jacks has played his trump card. the only way that location notice could be got to phoenix in time to be recorded to-day was by sending perry on the motor-cycle. when we left delray, he said something about lending us a gun. i don't believe in guns, as a general thing, but if we had borrowed delray's we could have met these scoundrels in their own way." matt's voice was low, but it throbbed with a fierce desire to do something--anything--which might still win the day for the mcreadys. "the biggest steal on record, that's what it is!" breathed chub. "you could prove it in any court in the country, chub. with your father's testimony, and ours, you'll have a good case against jacks and hawley." "it takes money for lawsuits," said chub bitterly, "and the mcreadys have been living from hand to mouth for more years than i care to think about. there's no use talking about a legal fight, matt. possession is nine points of the law, and the man who files his location notice first always holds the ground. we'll just sponge the 'make or break' off the mcready slate right now. for the rest of it, all i'm worrying about is dad." "if you fellers hev got through with yer confab," shouted jacks, "ye'll jest turn face-about an' jog fer that scooped-out place in the foot o' the hill, right behind ye." matt looked around. the spot mentioned by jacks was a jagged notch among the rocks, twenty-five or thirty feet long by a dozen wide, and with precipitous walls on all sides, except, of course, at the opening in front. "what are you driving us into that hole in the rocks for?" demanded matt. "we like yer comp'ny so all-fired well," answered jacks, with a hoarse laugh, "that we're goin' ter keep ye with us all night. arter it gits dark, we kin hang onter ye easier if ye're bottled up in that cut-out." "you're a nice pair of grafters--i don't think," flared chub. "somebody's goin' to settle for this business, and the more you pile it on the more you'll pay." "we're able ter pay all we'll have ter," grinned jacks, "but jest now you're follerin' my orders, _sabe_? chase 'em in, bisbee," he added, to his companion. "shoo!" said bisbee, and started forward, waving his weapon. "you're a couple of cowards!" yelled chub, doubling up his fists. "you wouldn't dare shoot!" "come on, chub," said matt quietly, taking his chum's arm and leading him into the notch. "we'll have our innings later." "but i don't want to be hung up in here all night," demurred chub. "there's no tellin' what kind of a fix dad is in. we ought to be hunting for him." "don't fret. they've left your father so he'll be all right until you can find him, even if you can't take up the hunt until to-morrow. just let 'em think their bluff is working, that's all." bisbee, with the revolver on his knees, had taken up his position at the front of the notch. from this position, even after it grew dark, he would be able to keep the boys from emerging from the cut-out. matt and chub sat down on a couple of stones and leaned back against the steep wall behind them. through the opening they could look out toward the claim and see jacks taking perry's horse to the spring. saddle and bridle were stripped from the horse, and the animal was secured with a long rope and picket-pin. after taking care of the horse, jacks went back to mcready's camp, started a fire, and began getting supper. "consarn 'em!" growled chub, "they're taking everything in sight." "we'll not make any kick," answered matt, "so long as they give us our supper. i feel as though i'd been through a famine. besides, we need food for our night's work." he dropped his voice, to make sure bisbee could not hear. "night's work?" echoed chub. "about all the work we'll do to-night, matt, will be to sit on these boulders and try to sleep." "that's where you're wrong. when it's dark enough, and everything's quiet, i'm going to climb out of here, fix up the _comet_, and take this location notice to phoenix." "shucks! what's the use? even if you succeeded, you couldn't reach town before to-morrow. the other notice will have been recorded long before then." "i'll not say we're beaten until the recorder himself tells me it's too late." admiration for his chum rose in chub's eyes, although he shook his head hopelessly. "that's your style, matt--you never seem to know when you're down and out. how're you goin' to get out of here?" matt called chub's attention to one of the side walls of the notch. there was more of a slope to the wall there than anywhere else, and matt had already marked out his foot and hand holds, fixing half a dozen projecting stones and two or three straggling bushes firmly in his mind. "in broad day," said chub, "that climb would be hard enough, but at night you'd be sure to fall and break your neck. cut it out." "i'm going to make a getaway to-night," declared matt firmly. "why couldn't the two of us get the better of bisbee? we could drop on him during the night, and if we worked it right, that gun of his wouldn't cut any figure." "i'd thought of that," said matt, "but i've got to skirmish around the camp a little, you know, and tinker with the _comet_. all that will have to be done secretly. my way's the best, i think." "you'll have to excuse little chub from prancing up that precipice. he thinks too much of his neck to risk it on any such fool stunt." "when i'm ready to go i'll set up a yell. that will draw bisbee and jacks after me, chub, and you can walk out of this hole in the hill as neat as you please." that ended their talk for a while. just then jacks came to the opening of the notch, and set down a tin cup of coffee and a plate of soaked hardtack and fried bacon. "ye'll hev ter eat out o' the same dish an' drink out o' the same cup," said he. "this hotel's kinder short on plates an' cups. howsumever, i don't reckon ye're anyways partic'ler." he withdrew with a jubilant flourish, and the two chums fell to on their food. after it was eaten, both of them felt a hundred per cent. better. night comes suddenly in that part of the southwest. one minute it is daylight, and almost the next the stars are out and the coyotes yelping. as night advanced a deep quiet fell over the captives and their captors. the horse and burro could be heard tramping around the spring, but these sounds, and the occasional bark of a coyote, were all that broke the stillness. bisbee, sitting by the entrance into the notch, was as upright and silent as a black statue. jacks, with a blanket under him, was lying across the entrance and snoring. midnight was passed and the hour had come for matt to make his attempt, so he reached over and touched his chum on the shoulder. "i'm off, old chap!" he whispered, his lips close to chub's ear. "i've tied my shoes together by the laces and they're hanging around my neck--i can climb better and make less noise in my stocking-feet." chub reached out his hand and wrung matt's fervently. "i think it's foolish for you to try to get that notice to phoenix, old chum," he answered, "but i appreciate what you're tryin' to do for the mcreadys, just the same. if ever a fellow was true to his friends, it's a cinch that it's motor matt." "i hate to pull out and leave you, chub," went on matt, "but there's only one motor-cycle, you know, and, besides, you can't leave here until you find out about your father." "that's all to the good. we've got to separate. good-by and good luck." "be ready to run when you hear me yell," finished matt. "so-long, chub." it was as dark as a pocket in the notch, and chub could not see matt as he moved noiselessly across to the other wall. presently, by straining his ears, chub could hear muffled sounds--a sifting downward of sand, the faint crunch of a loose stone under a stockinged foot, a stifled breathing, as of some one working hard and trying to work quietly. steadily the sounds mounted up and up. chub, holding his breath, fixed his eyes on the blank darkness and waited. he almost fell off his boulder when he saw the blurred form of bisbee lean forward, and heard him call: "what ye doin' in thar, you two?" "what's the matter with you?" retorted the quick-witted chub. "we're tired out and want to sleep. move over a little, matt," he added, as though speaking to his chum, "you're takin' up more'n your half of the wall." the blurred form straightened again, and once more chub began to breathe. the sounds on the wall had ceased, and chub began to count the seconds and mentally to check off the minutes. five minutes--ten--fifteen. chub wasn't at all sure he was reckoning the time properly, but he began wondering what had become of his chum. the opposite side of the notch was the slope of the hill itself, and only child's play for matt to get down. if he had got down, where was he? chub reckoned up fifteen minutes more. his nerves were in rags and he was imagining all sorts of wild things, when a booming shout came from the distance. "good-by, jacks! you thought you had us, but you've got another guess coming!" bisbee leaped to his feet with a yell. jacks broke off his snores suddenly and lifted himself up. "what's the matter?" he demanded. "them kids hev got away!" cried the startled bisbee. a clatter of hoofs, rapidly receding in the direction of the pack-trail, could be heard. "they've took the hoss!" yelped jacks. "consarn 'em, anyways! why didn't ye watch, hey? come on! mebby we kin stop 'em yit!" bisbee and jacks scampered off into the shadows, talking and snarling at each other as they ran. chub, losing no time, laughed softly to himself and hurried out of the notch. it tickled him to think that motor matt's daring had won out, even though there wasn't much hope of his getting to phoenix in time to save the claim. but why had matt taken the horse? chub had been expecting the explosions of a gasoline motor rather than the patter of hoofs. chapter xi. a hard journey. there were few better athletes than matt king, and he was in the pink of condition. it was a matter of pride with him to keep himself at all times fit and ready for whatever fate threw his way. but scaling that steep wall, under the double necessity of doing it effectively and making little noise, was one of the hardest things he ever attempted. he had kept vividly in his mind the path he had mapped out, and the upward climb was merely the working out of a problem that he had already solved in theory; but he had to work out the problem in the dark, and to grope with his feet for the projecting stones and with his hands for the bushes. at last, with every muscle tingling and his breath coming hard through his tense lips, he drew himself over the crest of the wall. here he paused for a moment's rest, and to put on his shoes. there was cactus on the hill-slope, and he didn't want to hamper himself by picking up a bunch of fish-hooks in his unprotected feet. when near the top of the wall he had heard bisbee's demand to know what was going on, and he had chuckled at chub's response. chub's ready wit, it might be, had made the escape successful. once in his shoes, matt stole down the slope and made his way to the center monument on the claim. the _comet_ was lying just where perry had let it drop. how matt was to fix the machine in the dark he did not know, but he had had an idea that the motor-cycle had "bucked" because perry did not understand just how to operate it. his first disappointment came as he knelt down by the machine and detected a heavy odor of gasoline. after a minute or two of groping about, he made the startling discovery that the gasoline-tank was empty. the cap that closed the opening into the reservoir had become loosened in the fall, and all the gasoline had trickled out. here was a difficulty, and no mistake. matt remembered having seen a gasoline-stove at the bluebell, but he was under the impression that delray didn't use the stove very much. if there was no gasoline to be had at the mine, then matt would have to keep on to the arizona canal, and try to get some at the first ranch he came to. there was no use now in looking for the trouble that had cut short perry's flight on the _comet_--that could be attended to later. what matt had to do was to figure on getting a hundred-and-fifty pounds of mechanism to the bluebell mine. to pedal the machine that distance, over the rough pack-trail with its sharp rocks and cactus, and at night, was a task he did not care to think about. it was then that the idea of taking the horse appealed to him. the horse could carry both him and the machine, providing he used judgment in stowing the _comet_ on the animal's back. having made up his mind to get over the difficulty in this way, matt raised the machine and trundled it toward the spring. to his satisfaction, he gathered that everything was serene in the vicinity of the notch. not a sound reached him from there. if he had been nearer, perhaps he might have heard the resonant snores of the sleeping jacks. when he had come close to the horse, matt laid the motor-cycle down and went up to the animal, whispering and stroking his neck to prevent a startled snort or jump. with his knife he cut the picket-rope off close to the pin, and after twisting the rope about the horse's lower jaw, in lieu of a bridle, he cut the rope again. this gave him not only enough for a bridle, but also some twenty feet of lashing for the _comet_. to hang the machine from the horse's back so that it would ride without injury to its mechanism was the next problem matt had to solve. this was accomplished by first passing a loop of rope through the forks, and then drawing the machine up by the front with the rope over the horse's back. naturally, the horse objected to this unusual procedure, and a good part of the half-hour required by matt in effecting his escape was consumed in getting the horse accustomed to his strange burden. after the front of the _comet_ had been swung into place and fastened, matt repeated the operation with the back of the machine and drew the rear wheel off the ground. the right pedal and toe-clip dug into the horse's ribs and caused a good deal of shying and side-stepping. but the interfering pedal had an advantage as well as a disadvantage, inasmuch as it braced the machine away from the horse's side and gave matt room on the animal's back. his position, once he was astride the horse, was far from comfortable, but he thought he could make shift, at least, to ride until he had left the camp well behind. heading the horse toward the trail, he shouted his good-by to jacks at the top of his lungs, and then urged the horse into a gallop with his heels and the end of the rope hackamore. the _comet_ slipped, and plunged, and rattled, but matt supported it with one hand and let the frightened horse take his own gait. he heard jacks and bisbee chasing after him, but was soon so far away that these sounds of pursuit were lost in the distance. a little later he turned into the pack-trail, and the most difficult part of his night journey lay ahead of him. matt could have hidden his machine away among the rocks and left it there while he galloped on to phoenix. there would have been nothing to gain by this move, however, except an easier ride to the bluebell. the office of the recorder would not be open for business before eight o'clock the next morning, and matt had plenty of time to reach his destination. if he could get a supply of gasoline at the mine, and found that the _comet_ could be easily repaired, he would leave the horse with delray and get back to town on the motor-cycle. before matt had gone far along the pack-trail the difficulties of his position on the horse's back became so great that he was forced to dismount and walk. even though he could have ridden comfortably, he would soon have been obliged to fall back on his own feet anyway. the trail was rough and hard to follow when it could be plainly seen, and now, when it twisted and turned through black arroyos and clung to the edge of half-hidden chasms, progress could only be safely made by going slowly and carefully. leading the horse by the rope, matt picked out the course with the utmost care. once he lost the trail and was all of two hours finding it again; then the lashings of the _comet_ gave way suddenly, and the rear wheel dropped, causing the horse to give a frightened jump that nearly took him over the edge of a steep descent. at the most difficult part of the trail, where it ran along a shelf gouged out of the cliffs, matt had to unship the wheel and swing it from the other side, in order to keep it from colliding with the rocks and being broken. before the _barranca_ and the black cañon were reached, a quivering line of gray had run along the tops of the eastern hills. morning was at hand, and matt, who had been working like a turk through the dark hours, was not yet at the bluebell! "the _comet_ has made me a heap of trouble," he muttered, "but i'll take the kinks out of the old girl when we get to the bluebell, and then there'll be clear sailing all the way to town. it's about time i struck a streak of luck, seems to me. if delray has any gasoline----" matt broke off the remark suddenly, wincing as he thought of an added jaunt of five miles to the canal, leading the horse or pedaling a heavy motor-cycle. if luck ever did anything for him, he hoped it would show itself at the bluebell. the sky was bright with coming day when matt turned into the _barranca_, and the sun was up when he came in sight of the house and derrick at the bluebell. there was some one on foot in the road, far away toward the canal. when matt drew up by the house he saw that the approaching man was delray. "i wonder if del is still gadding about looking for the fellow who smashed the wireless instrument?" thought matt, setting to work unloading the _comet_. but it was something else that had taken delray abroad that morning. he came, puffing, just as matt got the _comet_ on the ground. "well, by thunder!" exclaimed the watchman. "what's the matter with the machine? where's chub? say, but i've had the duse of a time!" delray mopped his face with a handkerchief and looked excited, and curious, and a little bit chagrined. "first off, del," said matt, "have you got any gasoline? don't tell me you haven't! it's the one thing i need just now more than anything else." "that's right," cried delray, surprising matt with a fresh show of excitement, "if you ever needed gasoline, you need it now. but i don't think i've got a drop. haven't used the gasoline-stove for a month, and it seems to me the can was empty when i last tried it. but wait; we'll make sure." delray darted into the house. in a moment he came rushing back with a can. "there's some here, but i don't know how much," said he. "bully!" exclaimed matt. "a quart will take me to phoenix on the high speed." he began working while he kept up a flow of talk. "chub's in the hills, looking for his father, who's mysteriously missing from the claim. jacks and a rascal named bisbee held us up yesterday afternoon while perry got away on chub's wheel. jacks and bisbee tried to keep us bottled up in a hole in the rocks all night; but we managed to get away. chub's going to look around for his father, and i'm going to take his father's location notice to phoenix. seen anything of perry?" "_seen_ anything of him?" muttered delray; "well, i should say i had! he came puffing along here yesterday afternoon, on chub's motor-cycle, and i jumped for the road and headed him off. he tried to run me down, but i grabbed him. why, he was all night in the house with me. he begged me to let him go, and tried to bribe me, but i was thinking of chub and held onto him. about half an hour ago tom clipperton rode up on horseback. he was looking for you and chub. i stepped out to talk with him, and while i was explaining the situation, we heard the popping of that motor-cycle, and saw perry darting along the road. i had a rope on perry's hands, and how he ever got rid of it is more'n i know. clipperton took after him just a-smoking, but he might as well have tried to chase a lightning express-train on a hand-car. i ran down the road a ways, and was just coming back when i saw you." all this set matt's nerves to tingling. here was an unexpected stroke of luck. perry had been held up all night at the bluebell! even though he had got away, there was a chance to overtake him. matt flung down the can, adjusted the needle-valve of the gasoline shut-off which he had found out of order, and tried the motor. she took the spark finely, and was apparently in as good shape as before she had "bucked" with perry. "bully for you, del!" cried matt. "perry leads me by half an hour?" "yes; but that's a whole lot, and----" matt did not hear the rest. he was off down the road, with the cylinders sweetly purring and the rubber tires kicking up a cloud of dust. the fatigue of his night work dropped from him, and he felt as fresh and fit as though he had had his usual amount of rest and sleep. once more his face was set toward phoenix, and he felt equal to anything. chapter xii. a stout heart and plenty of hope. dace perry was only half an hour in the lead! had he been mounted on motor matt's two-cylinder, seven-horse-power marvel, this would have meant that, with fearless and skilful riding, he was already in phoenix; but perry was on a one-cylinder machine, that would have to be nursed by a proficient rider in order to do even thirty miles an hour. matt figured that perry would do twenty, or twenty-five. in other words, perry's lead, as matt reckoned it, was ten or twelve miles. could the _comet_ reel off a score of miles while perry was doing the eight or ten that lay between him and the recorder's office? reason assured matt that he had a fighting chance. there was a mile a minute in the _comet_ if matt cared to let her go the limit and risk his neck. notch by notch he opened her out. why not do a mile a minute? there was less sand just ahead and better ground. besides, he was working for chub and susie, and what good was a fellow who wouldn't risk his neck for his friends? this was a race for a fortune. it made little difference to motor matt that it was a fortune for the mcreadys and not for himself that trembled in the balance. the hills melted away behind the speeding motor-cycle. the rise and fall of the road had little effect on the speed, and the tremendous momentum of one hundred and fifty pounds of steel, backed by a hundred and thirty more of brawn and daring, fairly lifted the _comet_ over the high places. ahead of matt were a horse and rider. the horse was galloping in matt's direction, but took the roadside at a frightened leap as the motor-cycle sped by. the horseman shouted and waved an arm. it was tom clipperton, the descendant of a noble line of genuine owners of the soil--the indians. what he said matt could not hear, and matt dared not take a hand from the grip-control to wave an answering hail. however, he yelled a greeting, and the cry trailed out behind him and died suddenly in the speed of his flight. that was not the first time motor matt had raced along the black cañon road. he had done it once before, but his speed then was not what it was now. that other time the _comet_ was new to him, but since that he had come to know the machine in every part as he knew his two hands. before he fairly realized it, he was at the canal. the _comet_ seemed to take the bridge at a flying leap, and was off and away through shady lanes of cottonwood-trees. he passed several wagons and carriages coming toward him. they got out of the way and gave his charging steel wonder a wide berth. occasionally he had to slow down to pass a vehicle moving toward phoenix, but not often. the road was wide, and clean, and hard from edge to edge. speed and more speed! that was all matt was thinking of then. the itch to eat up the miles as they had never been devoured before was racing hot through his veins. he would make a record from the hills to phoenix this time which would stand unequaled for a long time. he whirred across the second canal. his next bridge would be the one that spanned the town-ditch, and then he would be only a short half-mile from the court-house plaza, and the place where location notices were put on file. as he struck the last lap of country road and looked away toward the beginning of the angling thoroughfare known as grand avenue, he glimpsed a flurry of dust. that was perry, fanning along on the one-cylinder machine. matt was gaining on perry hand over fist. as the dust blew aside, matt could see perry looking back, then turning again and coaxing penny's wheel to fresh endeavor. "i've got him," thought matt exultantly, "and he knows it! he'll begin to understand, one of these days, that crooked work can make lots of trouble, but was never known to pay in the long run." perry, no doubt, was greatly astounded at sight of motor matt. he had left matt in the hands of jacks and bisbee, and he had left the _comet_ temporarily useless. small wonder if his brain _was_ dazed and bewildered by the sight of that hurricane closing in on him from the rear. if chub and clip had any fault to find with matt, it was because they thought him too "easy." this was because he had a habit of looking for the good qualities in a fellow, rather than for the bad ones. perry, according to matt, would have been all right if he hadn't got a wrong start; and matt had even hinted to chub that there might be something good even in that scheming follower of fortune's wheel, dirk hawley. chub and clip couldn't understand this kind of talk. they realized that it didn't show weakness, for they had sampled matt's fiber too many times not to know his underlying strength of character. so they laid it up to eccentricity, and called it a hobby. matt, however, called it a "principle"--and he had been known to fight like a wildcat for his "principles." matt's mind was resting easy. he felt that the race was as good as won, that he would soon pass perry, reach the court-house, and have the mcready location on file a good two minutes before perry could reach the plaza. and just at that moment, when the whole matter of the mcready "strike" was looking its brightest, the unexpected happened again and changed the complexion of affairs. matt was close to perry--not more than a couple of hundred feet behind him, and still gaining rapidly--when he saw a white horse, ridden by a well-dressed young woman, riding toward them from the direction of grand avenue. the horse was mettlesome and high-spirited, and the sight of perry's motor-cycle sent the animal leaping toward the roadside. the girl was a good rider--matt could see that at a glance--but the horse was giving her all she could manage. perry's proper move, in such a case, would have been to slow down--even to stop, if the actions of the horse and the safety of the rider seemed to demand it. but perry was thinking only of the recorder's office and never slackened pace. the white horse plunged against the fence and reared high in the air. the girl, however, clung pluckily to the saddle. matt, completely absorbed in the girl's peril, lessened his speed and watched the progress of events. then, with his heart in his throat, he shut off the gasoline and clamped on the brake. one of the reins had snapped apart during the girl's frantic tugging at the bit. entirely out of control, the frenzied animal flung off down the road, the piece of rein dangling from the bit-ring and the girl clinging desperately to the saddle. her hat was lost and her yellow hair was streaming out behind her. matt's first impulse had been to leave his machine and rush to the girl's assistance, but before he could pull his feet from the toe-clips, the horse was past him and careering along on its wild course. there are times when, in the space of a lightning-flash, a person's mind will deal with every conceivable phase of a situation. it was like that with matt as the white horse and helpless rider went tearing past him. unless something was done to stop the runaway animal, the girl would probably be thrown and perhaps killed. against what he might do for the girl, matt, for the fraction of an instant, balanced his duty to the mcreadys. then he used the pedals, turned on the gasoline, and switched on the spark. but instead of going on to phoenix and the recorder's office, he turned the _comet_ and raced after the girl. chapter xiii. matt wins--and loses. motor matt had seven horses in the twin-cylinders to pit against that one frantic animal that was slashing along the road toward the canal. there was but one thought in his mind, and that was to spur the seven horses into a speed that could overtake the one before it reached the bridge and the water. he had been racing for a fortune before, but it was for a human life now. with keen, steady eyes he gaged the chances. the white horse was thundering along in the middle of the road, with the scrap of rein dangling on the left side of the bit. he aimed the _comet_ to bring up on the left side of the frightened beast. he was half a minute, perhaps, in coming alongside the horse, and during that brief interval he had a brief glimpse of the thrashing, steel-shod heels. a heart's beat later he was abreast of the girl and saw her white, fear-drawn face looking down at him. in another breath he was close to the horse's head. the time had come when matt was to put forth his best effort, and win or lose at a single throw of the die. if the horse got away from him---but he was not thinking of that; he was thinking how he could best hold the animal and bring him to a stop. the girl, far gone with fright, was swaying dangerously in the saddle. "steady!" cried motor matt, reaching for the head of the runaway horse. his outstretched hand caught the piece of flying rein. it was his right hand he had to use, and he doubled the rein about the palm twice. then a twist of the left handle-bar caused the _comet_ to slow down, and he pulled back on the bit. the frenzied horse, however, was not to be stopped so easily. lurching ahead with a fresh leap, he dragged matt from the machine, and carried him, a dead weight, for a dozen yards. matt hung like grim death to the piece of rein, and his hundred and thirty pounds finally brought the horse to a standstill. as matt floundered to his feet, the girl toppled into his arms--and the horse jerked loose and went on. but matt was not concerned about the horse. the girl was saved, and that was enough for him. dizzy and weak, he staggered with her to the roadside and laid her down beside an irrigation-ditch. hearing some one behind him, he turned and saw a buckboard containing a man and woman. the man had halted the rig, and was handing the reins to the woman. the woman was leaning from the seat and peering anxiously at matt and the girl over the side of the vehicle. the man sprang down and hurried toward matt. "finest thing i ever saw!" declared the man. "that girl might have been killed if it hadn't been for you. say, you're a plucky piece, and----" the man stopped and stared. "why, hello!" he went on. "you're motor matt, the lad that won the bicycle-race at the park a few days ago. say, malindy," he called to the woman, "this is motor matt. you've heard about him. he's the boy that won the race from o'day, of prescott." "the young woman, silas!" returned the woman. "was she hurt?" "she's only fainted, i think," said matt. "it's a wonder the fellow on that other machine wouldn't stop," growled the man. "if he'd acted like he'd ought to, the horse wouldn't have run off with the girl. what was the matter with him?" "we were racing for the recorder's office," explained matt. "we've both got notices to file, and the one that gets there first----" "oh, ho! that's it, hey? and you thought more of saving the girl than you did of beating him! here, shake! it's sort of refreshing to meet a boy like you. if your machine isn't busted, you hike right along, and maybe you'll beat the other chap yet. we'll take care of the girl, and see that she gets where she belongs in town. hitch the horses, malindy," he added to the woman, "and come here and help." matt started off, limping as he went. "are you hurt?" shouted the man. "jolted up a little, that's all," answered matt, stopping to pick up his cap. he was worrying about the _comet_. had he smashed it when the horse jerked him out of the saddle? by what seemed like a miracle, the motor-cycle had escaped injury. the jar of its fall had closed the gasoline shut-off, and he picked the machine out of the dust and once more got into the seat. was there any use in going on to the court-house, he was asking himself. he felt more like going to his boarding-house and hunting for a bottle of arnica. remembering that he had told chub he wouldn't consider himself beaten until the recorder had told him perry had already filed jacks' location notice, he set the motor going and wheeled rapidly on toward grand avenue. he was about five minutes getting to the court-house. while he was bracing the motor-cycle up against the steps at the entrance, perry came out of the building, followed by dirk hawley. "here's king," laughed perry, "just a little bit late." "just a little," chuckled hawley. "it won't do you any good to butt in here, king." "how do you know what i'm doing here?" demanded matt. "oh, i'm a pretty fair guesser. run along home, an' tell the mcreadys their little scheme wouldn't work." matt, however, climbed doggedly up the steps, entered the corridor, and made for the place where location notices were filed. "was a location notice filed here just now for jacks and hawley?" he asked of the clerk. "right you are; just about two minutes ago." "much obliged," said matt. "that's all." he went out and got on his machine, but instead of steering for mrs. spooner's, he made for chub mcready's. susie was there, and he would tell her the whole story. if he hadn't stopped to chase that runaway horse, he would have been able to beat perry to the court-house and so save a fortune for his friends. they had to be told how he had failed and why. welcome perkins was smoking a pipe on the porch as matt rode up. he jumped excitedly to his feet when he saw who was coming. "howdy, pard!" he called. "did you an' chub do the trick? did ye beat out them villains, jacks an' hawley? snakes alive, matt, don't say ye didn't! from the looks o' yer face, i'm argyin' ye've had bad luck. oh, ye ort to hev took me! ye ort to hev let me take keer o' this." hearing welcome's loud talk, susie came out on the porch. "why, matt!" she exclaimed. "where's mark? didn't he come with you?" matt shook his head as he climbed up the steps. "what's the matter with ye?" demanded welcome. "i don't reckon i ever seen ye quite so cut up afore, matt. somethin' must hev gone a hull lot crossways to make _you_ pull sich a face." "nothing has happened to mark, has there, matt?" queried susie anxiously. "a good many things have happened to both of us, susie, since we left here," said matt; "but chub's all right." "you're kind of pale, matt," went on susie solicitously. "here, take this chair." "what makes ye limp?" queried welcome. "hawley been roughin' things up with ye? shade o' gallopin' dick! i never felt so all-fired worked up about anythin' as i do about that there 'strike' o' jim's. tell me right out, matt, hev ye saved the claim?" "no," answered matt heavily, as he sank into the chair, "we've lost out--and it's my fault." there followed a short silence, welcome muttering and twisting at his mustache, susie peering keenly at matt's pale face, and matt staring at the cottonwood-trees down by the town canal. susie was the first to speak. stepping quietly to matt's side, she laid a small hand on his shoulder. "you've lost out, matt," said she, "and if it's your fault, as you say, then there's a good reason _why_ you lost out. money isn't everything in this world." "mebby not," spoke up welcome dryly, "but it sartinly buys a lot o grub, an' clothes, an' critter comforts. the mcreadys could stand a few o' them same comforts, i reckon. sometimes, gal, when i see how ye're pinchin' along, an' chub is hampered fer money to git things to do his inventin' with, i vow i can't hardly keep from hikin' fer the hills an holdin' up a few stages. it ain't right, i know, but the ole lawless feelin' bubbles up mighty strong, oncet in a while. if you an' chub had waited an' asked fer my advice afore racin' off like ye done, matt, mebby ye'd be hevin' a diff'rent story ter tell. howsumever, tell the details. ye lost, an' the biggest part o' the shock is over. the mcreadys'll continner ter struggle along on bacon an' spuds, instid, as i had fondly hoped, bein' promoted to canned stuff. what ye hangin' fire fer, matt? go on an'----" "you don't stop talking long enough to give him a chance, welcome," said susie. "that's right," snorted welcome; "blame _me_! blame the ole ex-pirate o' the plains fer every bloomin' thing that happens. i'm expectin' ye'll be sayin' next that it's my fault kase matt an chub couldn't beat out jacks an' hawley. don't fergit, young lady, i'm grub-staked fer the hills, an'----" "dry up!" cried matt, and he said it so suddenly, and in such a tone that the old man keeled over against one of the porch-posts. matt smiled a little. "you're doing all the talking, welcome," he added, "and not saying anything, and here i sit with something to say and not able to get a word in edgeways." "git in yer word," snapped welcome, stamping his wooden pin on the porch, "git in a dozen words, or a millyun of 'em. 'pears like ye kin _talk_ a heap even if ye can't _do_ anythin'." welcome glared, began filling his pipe, and sat down on the top step of the porch. before matt could begin, tom clipperton hurried in at the gate and ran along the walk and up the steps. he was covered with dust, and was plainly just in from a hard, trying ride, but there was a glow in his black eyes as he reached over and grabbed matt's hand. "great! everybody's talking about it. i'm proud of you." "somethin' more we can't understand," growled welcome. "what's great? what's everybody talkin' about? where'd you come from, anyway?" "matt was racing for town with perry," went on clipperton. "perry had penny's motor-cycle. matt had the _comet_. matt was overhauling perry at every jump. he'd have beat him in and filed the mcready location before perry filed jacks' and hawley's. but matt stopped to catch a horse that was running away with a girl. perry's machine scared the horse. catch _him_ stopping! that's why motor matt lost out. claim or no claim, everybody's proud of matt." "did you do _that_, matt?" asked susie, a soft light in her wide, brown eyes as she looked at him. "why, yes," said matt. "i couldn't get out of it." "i'm proud of you, too," said susie quietly. "what you did was worth a dozen claims." "money's money," growled old welcome. "i ain't got no use fer dad-binged sentiment when it's so hard fer the mcreadys to scrub along." "there's more to it," said clipperton. "i've got something else to tell." "what's that, clip?" queried matt. "the girl you saved was edith hawley. dirk hawley's daughter." matt sank back in his chair, dumfounded. chapter xiv. a queer tangle. "waal, i'm stumped!" snorted welcome. "matt stops his race ter save dirk hawley's gal, an' dirk hawley wins a bonanzer mine bekase o' it. looks to me like a put-up job. mebby the gal was bein' run away with a-purpose." "welcome!" reproved susie sharply. "that's right," whimpered the old man. "jump onter me. anyways, you know dirk hawley wouldn't be above doin' of a thing like that." "they say edith hawley is a fine girl," said susie, "and just as different from her father as can be. i've heard that hawley fairly worships her, and it's nonsense to think he'd let her risk her life to keep matt from beating perry to the recorder's office. but it's a queer tangle, isn't it, matt?" she added, turning to her brother's chum. "mighty queer," answered matt. "i'd have stopped and helped the girl, just the same, even if i had known who she was." "of course you would!" declared susie. "you must have made a fast ride into town, clip," said matt. "hit a high place, now and then," answered clip. "you didn't hit any." "why did you leave town?" "saw perry's chum, ratty spangler. he told me where perry had gone. then i got a horse and started out early this morning. didn't know what i could do, but i wanted to do something. after you passed me on the road i tore in behind you. a good ways behind," clip added. "left my horse at the corral and hustled straight for here. it was the corral boss who told me what you'd done." "susie an' me hev been waitin' fer quite a spell to hear what matt done," complained welcome. "we got a right to know, seems like." "wait till i get dinner," said susie, "then we can talk while we eat." "prime idea," agreed matt. "i was too busy to eat breakfast, and chub and i had a mighty slim supper last night." "i'll hurry as fast as i can," said susie, starting into the house. "you're to stay, clip." the loss of a fortune hadn't seemed to make much of an impression on susie. on the contrary, she seemed pleased to think that matt had turned aside from the race with perry to stop the runaway horse and save edith hawley. clip went into the house after a bandage and a bottle of arnica, and proceeded to take care of one of matt's shins, which had been badly skinned when he was jerked from the motor-cycle. clip was a master-hand at anything of this sort, and, besides, inherited from his indian forefathers the keen eye and subtle sense that go to make a born tracker, whether in the woods, or on mountain and plain. "hawley an' perry hev been purty thick," mused welcome, while the bandaging was going on, "an' i'm kinder sorter wonderin' what hawley'll say when he l'arns it was perry as skeered his darter's hoss." "perry did a big thing for hawley by winning that race," said clip. "hawley's all for money, no matter how it's made. he'll forget about perry's scaring the horse." "an' only to think it was hawley's gal got between the mcreadys an' a fortun'," groaned welcome. "i shore won't sleep nights thinkin' about it. it's goin' to ha'nt me. mebey it'll drive me into the hills fer good an' all." "if delray hadn't come out of the house to talk with me," said clip, "perry wouldn't have got away from the bluebell. he went like a streak when he came. couldn't either of us stop him." "funny how things turn out sometimes," mused matt. "why don't you come back to school, matt?" asked clip, with his usual abruptness in jumping from one subject to another. "finish out the term, i mean, before you go to denver. you've got ten friends there to perry's one." a tinge of sadness crossed matt's face. "i haven't any folks that i know of, clip," said he, "and i'm up against a financial stringency. i'm going to denver and get something to do." "short on folks myself," grunted clip. "and about as short on money. what you going to do there?" "i think i'll get into the automobile business--driving a car, or something like that. i've got to be among the motors, clip, in order to be happy." "i'll buy perry's motor-cycle and go with you. never had a friend like motor matt. don't want to let you get away." clipperton was as sudden in his resolutions as he was in his talk. matt lifted his eyes quickly, and there was that in clipperton's look which led him to reach over and grip his hand. "we'd hook up like a house afire, clip," said matt heartily, "but you'd better think it over." "i've got my way to make, same as you. let me hitch my string to your kite. maybe i can help. don't have to think it over. you know they haven't ever made it very happy for me here," said clipperton, his eyes flashing and chest heaving with the indignation that filled his soul. at that moment, susie came to the door and announced dinner. while they were eating, matt struck into the experiences that had fallen to him and chub. beginning with the trouble caused by the freighter at the bluebell mine, he followed on down to the point where he had stopped the runaway horse. that incident he glided over, and finished by telling of his encounter with hawley and perry on the court-house steps. as he very well knew would be the case, susie began at once to worry about her father. welcome pushed away from the table, leaving his dinner half-eaten. "it's up to me," said he excitedly. "i knowed it u'd come. i'll git out ole lucretia borgia an' hike fer the mountings immediate. jim mcready's my pard, an' if a hair o' his head has been teched, i'll mow down jacks, an' bisbee, an' hawley an' everybody else that's had a hand in his undoin'. everybody listen to me! it's eagle-eye perkins, the terror o' the plains, what's talkin'. don't grieve, gal," he added, turning to susie, "i'll go out there an' i'll bring jim back, or i'll leave my ole carkiss among the rocks." welcome thumped his chest--and immediately began to cough. "where's lucretia borgia, gal?" he demanded. "i been missin' 'er fer a day or two." "lucretia borgia" was the high-sounding and significant name welcome had bestowed upon an ancient revolver. the weapon had not been discharged in a dozen years, and owing to its rusty condition firing it had apparently ceased to become a possibility. "i--i threw it down the cistern, welcome," said susie. "the old trinket was harmless enough, but i was afraid it would get you into trouble." welcome stared. "trinket!" he mumbled. "throwed it down the cistern! lucretia borgia, with all them tur'ble recordin' notches on the handle! this here's the last straw! i'm goin', right now, an' with nothin' on me no more'n a jack-knife with a busted blade! but i'll git jim. he's my pard, he is, an' he's allers treated me _white_." welcome grabbed his hat and started for the door. just as he reached it, a tall man with grayish hair and beard stepped through and collided with him. "father!" screamed susie. "jim!" whooped welcome. "waal, snakes alive! we was jest thinkin' ye'd never git back till ole welcome went out an' brought ye in!" "don't overlook me," piped the voice of chub, as he pushed through the door behind his father. "howdy, matt! i knew you were here when i saw the _comet_ out in front. clip, too! well, well, here's a gatherin' of the faithful, an' no mistake." chapter xv. the last surprise. mr. mcready and chub could not have arrived at a more fitting moment. at no time had matt done very much worrying on account of mcready, senior, for he had all along believed that the prospector was in no particular danger from jacks and bisbee. those two worthies would go as far as they dared, but they would stop short of any desperate work. hawley would have seen to that, even if jacks and bisbee had allowed their ardor to run away with their judgment. after the prospector had kissed susie and shaken hands with matt and clip, two more plates were put on the table, and for half an hour those present listened to what had happened to the head of the mcready family. "i've had a tough time of it, and no mistake," said the prospector. "for the biggest part of my trip it was just the same old scramble through the hills, gopherin' around and horn-spooning nothing that had a speck of color. i was near discouraged, thinking how old a man i was getting to be, and how my family was drifting along and kicking the wolf off the door-step every morning. i started for home, allowing i'd get some kind of a job in town, and chance brought me along that old pack-trail. knowing about the spring under the peak with the white cross, i went there to camp for the night--and then through sheer accident i struck that blow-out of white quartz with the rock just glittering with yellow specks. it took me half of the next day to locate the lode, and while i was pilin' the monuments i looked up and saw that villain, jacks. "i had been running across jacks frequently, during the trip, and it began to dawn upon me that seeing him so much wasn't altogether a coincidence. everybody knows that dirk hawley grub-stakes him, although why jacks wanted to trail after such an unsuccessful prospector as i am was a mystery. however, there he was, just at the time i had made my 'strike,' pushing toward me threateningly. he said that it was his claim, and that i had no business piling my monuments on it. i asked him why he hadn't piled his own monuments on the claim, if it was his. he hadn't anything to say to that, but tried to run me off the ground. "well, instead of his running me off he got run off himself, and i could see him hanging around at a safe distance, keeping an eye on me. when i got ready to put up my location notice, i was thunderstruck to find that i had lost my bundle of blanks. jacks, no doubt, had blanks, for they're a prime part of every prospector's equipment, but of course i couldn't expect him to let me have a couple; and if i left the claim and tried to get any, jacks could tack up a location notice of his own and make a run to phoenix with a duplicate. "chub was the boy i thought of to get me out of that fix, but i didn't even think of him as a possibility until pedro morales came along the pack-trail with a couple of burros loaded with mesquit and palo-verde. i stopped the mexican and made him wait while i took the wrapper off of some candles and wrote that letter; then, scratching out the original address on an old envelope, i wrote chub's name over it, told morales where to go to find the boy, and gave him some money and sent him on. "then i waited, and watched, and hoped, all the time keeping as wary an eye on jacks as he was holding on me. i never left the claim once, and i had a good-sized club of ironwood which i was ready to use on the slightest provocation. "well, the days passed and chub didn't come. i was hoping jacks might go away for a spell and give me a chance to slip over to the bluebell and flash a wireless message to phoenix, but the rascal seemed glued to the spot. finally, one day, jacks walked over with a white flag. he said he wanted to see if we couldn't compromise, as he called it. i kept my club handy and watched him like a cat as we talked. but the trouble was i didn't do any looking behind me. first thing i knew i was grabbed around the arms from the rear, then jacks jumped forward, and i found myself in the hands of two men, one of them being bisbee. hawley had sent bisbee out to help jacks get the better of me. too late i realized how i had been trapped, but there was nothing i could do. "the scoundrels tied me hand and foot, loaded me onto jacks' burro, and took me two miles away to the old santa maria shaft. the santa maria was abandoned years ago, and jacks and bisbee lowered me down to the bottom of the shaft, left a little food and water, and went away. the old ladders had long since decayed and fallen away, so i couldn't have been more of a prisoner if i had found myself behind bars and stone walls. chub can tell you the rest." "you bet i can," put in chub. "if it hadn't been for matt's plucky getaway from that hole in the rocks, it's a cinch dad would probably have been down in the old shaft yet. when you gave that husky yell, matt, jacks and bisbee thought we had both got away. they rushed off after you, and all i had to do was to hike out. i had time to take old baldy, and i set out on a night search for the santa maria, as you told me to do. i had a notion where the old mine was, although i didn't know exactly, an' of course night was a bad time to find anything i was so hazy about. but sure i had luck in my jeans. i stumbled on a camp of mexican wood-cutters, and one of 'em took me to the santa maria. i can tell you i was mightily relieved when dad answered me from down in the shaft and said he was all right. the wood-cutter got a rope and we snaked dad out in a brace of shakes. then we began to scratch gravel for the bluebell, gettin' there about half an hour after you had left, matt. "'course dad an' me felt good when del told us how he had held perry a prisoner all night, an' how he had only got away half an hour ahead of you. still, i wasn't indulgin' in any extra high hopes, and neither was dad. we just figured on coming into phoenix, taking turn about riding the horse you had left at the bluebell, when, just as though we had planned it, along came major woolford in his automobile. he had been out to the montezuma mine, and was on his way to town. he brought us in, and when we got here we heard how you came so near skinning perry out of that race, and how you lost by side-stepping to grab a runaway horse and save edith hawley from bein' killed, or hurt." chub paused. mr. mcready, with glowing eyes, leaned toward matt. "that was nobly done, my boy!" he cried. susie's eyes kindled. "i knew you'd say that, dad," she said happily. "you couldn't expect anythin' else of motor matt," chimed in chub. "that's his style, every time an' all the time. he's all to the good!" matt was deeply touched. all the mcreadys, notwithstanding the fact that his act in saving the girl had caused them to lose a chance at fortune which might never again come their way, approved heartily the course he had taken. the mcreadys were generous and whole-souled; and, although they were in bitter need of a "strike," yet they were great-spirited enough to place humanity above the sordid question of mere money. "dad-binged if i kin feel like you do," croaked welcome perkins dismally. "it ain't likely, jim, ye'll ever git another chanst at a 'strike,' an' i hate to think ye got juggled out o' this in any sich a way." the prospector laughed. "why, old friend," said he, "it may be a good thing. i'd have to do development work, you know, then hunt around for capital to put up a mill, and i would be loading up with lots of care and worry. now, however, i've made up my mind to get something to do right here in phoenix, so i can be with you, and susie, and chub right along. i'm getting to be pretty old for knocking around the hills." there was an undernote of wistfulness back of mcready's words that sent a pang to motor matt's heart. a moderate fortune would have enabled the prospector to pass his last days in comfort and give chub and susie a college education. matt's conscience didn't reprove him for what he had done, but he couldn't help looking at the other side of the picture. mcready pushed away from the table, put his arms around susie and chub, and started for the front room. "let's all go out on the porch," said he. "the sun is bright, the sky is fair, and it's easy to be happy if you only make up your mind to be thankful for all you've got. i'd rather be in my shoes, this minute, than in jacks', or hawley's." "or perry's," added chub. "i wonder what that fellow thinks of himself?" "if that there pedro morales had had a leetle more sense," grumbled old welcome, "he'd a-handed that letter over to chub instid o' to perry. consarn them mexicans, anyways. if ye told him where to go to find chub, jim, why didn't he go?" "probably he didn't understand the directions," answered mcready. "forget it all, welcome. come out on the porch and we'll have a smoke. this way, matt, you and clip." the day couldn't have been finer. in the vicinity of phoenix they say they have three hundred and sixty cloudless days out of every year, and perpetual spring is in the air. a slight breeze ruffled the branches of the cotton-woods, down by the canal, birds were twittering and singing, and the world seemed a pretty good place to live in, despite the fact that mining-claims were temporarily at a discount. hardly had the little party seated themselves on the porch when the chugging of an automobile came to their ears. a car was coming from the direction of town, and was at that moment crossing the bridge. "snakes alive!" chattered welcome, staring. "i ain't got my glasses on, but 'pears to me like that's dirk hawley's ottermobill." "that's what it is," answered chub, breathing hard. "he's sailin' by in all kinds o' style, he and his daughter. there's a little more money added to the pile he's got in the bank, an' i hope he's satisfied." "tainted money, at that," growled clip. "that last deal was the crookedest he ever worked. where's perry? he ought to be along." chub was mistaken. dirk hawley and his daughter were not going to "sail by." to the astonishment of all on the porch, the resplendent touring-car came to a halt in front of the mcready gate. "they needn't call here," muttered chub. "come to rub it in, i suppose." "or to talk it over," said mcready. "i'll go fish lucretia borgia out o' the cistern, that's what i'll do," flared welcome. "mebby i'll need 'er yet." "stay right where you are, old friend," cautioned mcready. "i'm ready to talk with hawley, if that's what he's here for." dirk hawley got out of the car and helped his daughter down; then the two of them came through the gate and walked toward the group on the porch. chapter xvi. motor matt's triumph. edith hawley was a stunningly pretty girl. there was little of her father's looks about her, however, and it was quite clear that she got most of her character from her mother's side of the house. she was a little pale, but otherwise showed no bad effects of the ordeal through which she had passed earlier in the day. all those on the porch got up as the two callers drew near the steps--that is, all except welcome perkins. the old ex-buccaneer of the plains just sat where he was and glared. "excuse me for buttin' in here," said hawley, "but my daughter's got a little business with king." he turned to the girl. "fire away, edie," he added. "which is mr. king?" queried the girl, in a low voice. matt stepped away from the others and came down the steps. "i saw you when you stopped the horse," edith hawley went on, fixing her hazel eyes on matt's face, "but i couldn't remember much, then. i want to thank you. father brought me here so that i could. i want you to understand how grateful i am." she put out her hand timidly and matt took it cordially. "that's all right, miss hawley," said he, flushing. "what i did for you i would have done for anybody caught in the same way." "i believe that," she returned significantly. "even if you had known who i was it wouldn't have made any difference." "not a particle," answered matt. "isn't there something my father can do for you?" she asked. matt shook his head. "well," she went on, "there's something i'm going to do for you." she turned. "father----" "wait a minute, edie," interrupted hawley. "let me tell all of you," and he faced those on the porch, "just how i stand in the matter of that minin'-claim. it won't take more'n a minute, and it may save a lot of hard feelin's. i've been grub-stakin' jacks for two or three years, and he ain't never yet found anythin' but country rock. i was gettin' tired o' puttin' up good money, an' the last time he started out i told him he'd got to find somethin' or we'd split up our partnership. i reckon that made him rather too keen for a strike, so that he didn't care much how he made it just so he delivered the goods. "well, when dace perry came to me t'other day an' says he's found a letter concernin' me an' jacks, of course i read it; an', havin' grub-staked jacks, quite naturally i took his side. i sent bisbee out to help jacks keep what was rightfully his an' mine, an' later i sent perry out on a horse to find out what they were doin' an' report. "well, perry comes in with a location notice, an' says he had to ride like sam hill to get ahead o' matt king, who was hustling for town with a notice o' mcready's. that's all perry told me. never a word, mind ye, about scarin' edie's horse an' makin' it run away, nary a word about what matt king done to stop the horse--all he said was what i'm tellin' ye. "by and by, edie was brought home by a man i know, who had seen the runaway from start to finish. he told me the whole of it." dirk hawley's coarse, heavy face was flushed. his voice shook a little as he went on. "edie's goin' to school in 'frisco, an' she come out here to make her father a short visit. there ain't anythin' i wouldn't do for her, an' about the first thing i did after she struck town was to buy ajax, that white riding-horse. she knows how to ride, edie does--none better--but the way perry scared the horse didn't leave edie much of a chance. if king hadn't taken after ajax, i--i----" hawley snapped his heavy lower jaw and remained silent for a moment. "well," he finished, "i gave perry three hours to get out of town an' to go back to denver where he belongs. he needs lookin' after, an' his father's the one to do it. i know king won't let me do anythin' for him, but i reckon he won't balk on takin' a little somethin' from edie." "i don't want any of your money, mr. hawley," began matt, "if that's what----" "sure you don't," broke in the gambler grimly, "you don't want any o' my money an' you're not goin' to get any." he pulled a folded paper from his pocket. "i'd have done this sooner," he went on, "only i had to send my automobile out after jacks. it was necessary for him to sign the paper along with me." he gave the document to edith, and she turned and placed the paper in matt's hand. "it's a quitclaim deed to that mine," she said, "and it's made out to james mcready. it's yours, mr. king, because you won it. if you hadn't stopped to save me, you'd have got to the recorder's office first. it isn't much to do for the service you rendered me, but i'm sure you wouldn't let us do any more. good-by!" she held out her hand again. after matt had clasped the small palm for the second time, she turned, took her father's arm, and they went back to the automobile. in astonishment the group on the porch watched the car turn in the road and disappear in the direction of town. "waal, waal!" gulped welcome perkins. "somebody please ter pinch me, so's i kin wake up. it must be a dream--can't be nothin' else. dirk hawley! actin' like that!" welcome picked up his wooden pin and looked hard at the brass tip on the end of it. chub was also staggered. "get next that he didn't say anything about that underhand work," he commented, "how he had the wireless instruments smashed, and all that." "he's keeping such things from his daughter," said susie. "can you blame him for that?" "let him be straight, then," put in clip. "if he wants the girl to think he's honest and respectable, let him act the part. it's the easiest way." "it was the gal as done it," grinned welcome. "dirk hawley never'd hev sashayed over here an' give up that quitclaim o' his own free will an' accord. not him!" "you don't know about that, welcome," said matt. "it isn't always wise to be so quick with your snap judgments." "and perry's gone," went on clip, scowling. "hawley ordered him out of town. he had to go. and i had no chance to settle our account. some day we'll meet again. those of my race do not forget easily. it will keep." "perry owes hawley a heap of plunks, i've heard," put in chub. "probably perry had to hike or face a whole lot of trouble." matt stepped over to the prospector and gave him the quitclaim deed. "that 'strike' of yours has made you a good deal of trouble, mr. mcready," said he, "but i don't think we have any of us got any kick coming on the way the business has turned out. i hope the claim will make a bonanza mine, and that the mcreadys will have more money than they can spend." "hip, hip, hurroo!" wheezed welcome. "canned stuff--that's what the mcreadys lives on fer all the rest o' their days." "canned stuff"--plenty of it--was welcome's idea of luxury. mcready, as he took the quitclaim deed, gripped motor matt's hand. "matt," said he, with feeling, "but for you, this would never have come about. it was a big day for the mcreadys when chub chummed up with you, my boy. you ought to share in this good luck; by every law of right and justice, you're entitled to an interest in the 'strike.'" matt shook his head. "it's a family affair," said he, "and you couldn't make me take even a piece of quartz from the 'blow-out.'" "that's matt king for you," observed tom clipperton gruffly, edging around until he stood at matt's side. "true to his friends. that's why he has made a hit with me." clipperton, on his own account, knew what it was to have motor matt for a friend. "we're going to denver," clipperton went on. "if chub don't buy penny's motor-cycle, i'll buy it myself." "i've got to hunt up that wheel," murmured chub, who appeared to be a bit dazed. "mebby i'll have to pay for the old terror without getting it. and there's old baldy, an' perry's horse out at the bluebell. wish i could call up delray by wireless and tell him all about this. matt, you're the best pal in the world. don't i wish i could go to denver with you. but it's me to the woods--or school." chub jumped for matt and grabbed his hand. "an' i'm wonderin'," said old welcome plaintively, stumping forward along the porch, "if ye'll let a pore ole reformed road-agent grip yer honest pa'm, matt? i've shore made some mistakes, an' among 'em i thought ridin' that benzine go-devil o' penny's was about the wust; but i've changed my mind. if it hadn't been fer me makin' hawley drap on the bridge like i done, that there letter wouldn't never hev been picked up by matt, an' hawley an' perry would hev had things their own way. shucks! i'm in on this rejoicin' some myself. ain't i now, honest injun?" "you are, welcome," declared matt heartily; "if you hadn't been so bull-headed, and had found out how to stop the motor-cycle as well as to start it, that letter wouldn't have been picked up." "bull-headed!" demurred welcome. "h'm! you hand out a word now an' ag'in, that kinder jars. anyhow, i'm proposin' three cheers fer motor matt. next ter the ole ex-pirate, he done more'n anybody else to save the claim. let 'er go, now. jine in hearty, all you mcreadys! hip, hip----" they made a good deal of noise for a small crowd, and it's safe to say that motor matt was the happiest one in the lot. the end. the next number (3) will contain motor matt's "century" run or, the governor's courier. welcome takes a sudden drop--a queer situation--"rags"--a dangerous mission--the red roadster--surmounting the difficulty--smoke signals--on the divide--a ruse that won--at potter's gap--joe bascomb--bolivar turns up--the red roadster again--on to phoenix--the end of the mystery--matt reports to the governor. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, march 6, 1909. terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, 5c. each. 3 months 65c. 4 months 85c. 6 months $1.25 one year 2.50 2 copies one year 4.00 1 copy two years 4.00 =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. street & smith, publishers, 79-89 seventh avenue, new york city. among the alligators. a low, heavy mutter of thunder came booming through the hot, still air, and fred kinnersly looked up sharply from the potatoes he was peeling for his solitary supper. "another storm!" he growled. "two already to-day, and now a third. this is beyond a joke." he dropped his knife, and walked outside, onto the veranda of the little two-roomed shack. a huge blue-black cloud with hard, shell-like edges was rising over the pines in the northwest, and once again the air quivered and a spark of electric fire lit the heart of the great mountain of whirling vapor. "worst rains i've ever known," muttered fred, "and this is my fifth summer down south. we'll have the mine flooded if this goes on, and all those niggers out of work." he paused; then: "poor old sam," he smiled. "what an awful ducking he'll get coming home! well, thank goodness to-morrow's saturday. this steamy heat is the very deuce to work in, and i'll be glad of the lay-off on sunday. he was turning to go back into the house, when the thud of hoofs far up the track made him pause, and presently a pony shot into sight among the red pine trunks in the distance. its rider, bending low in the saddle, was sending the plucky little beast along at a furious gallop. "why, it's jack godfrey!" exclaimed fred, in surprise. "why on earth is he in such a deuce of a hurry?" the pony came tearing down the sandy track, sending spurts of wet sand and water flashing behind it. next moment jack godfrey pulled up at the door and flung himself off the panting, sweating beast. "what's up?" cried fred kinnersly. "you seem in a hurry." "is sam french back yet?" gasped the other. "no, of course not. he only left the mine after dinner. he generally gets back about ten. why, what's the matter?" as he saw godfrey's face go white under the tan. "ducane broke jail last night," said godfrey hoarsely. kinnersly staggered. "good heavens!" he muttered. "how?" "set fire to the place. he and his whole gang are out--five of them. they're armed, too. word came to orange port two hours ago that they'd raided lopez's place early this morning, and left in the direction of the big cypress." "where's the sheriff?" "on the wrong track. he thought they'd make for the sea, and he and his posse went toward wehila. anderson, the deputy, has got three men, and is on his way round the north end of the big cypress. he told me to warn you, and to say that as the water's so high it'll probably be midnight before he reaches black bayou." kinnersly was whiter than the other. the whole position was clear to him. in a few words it stood thus: he, kinnersly, was sub-manager of the big lone pine phosphate mine, which lay about a mile from the edge of the swamp known as the big cypress. this swamp was twenty-five miles long, but not more than two to three wide. on the other side of the swamp was lakeville, the county town. it was distant from the mine seven miles, as the crow flies, and more than twenty by road. every friday afternoon sam french, the manager of the mine, went to lakeville in his buggy, accompanied by one negro, to fetch the pay-money for the seventy hands employed in quarrying the phosphate. sam was well known and popular. but now--well, there was no one in south florida who had not heard of the atrocities of jean ducane. the man was a mulatto, half french, half negro, who had come to florida from new orleans. he had once been employed in the lone pine mine. trouble began with his getting drunk and insulting sam, who had promptly knocked him down, and next morning fired him. then ducane had disappeared. a week later sam french was shot at from the scrub. the mine-hands, who were fond of their manager, made the place too hot to hold the would-be murderer, and the next heard of ducane was down at key west. escaping from key west, the mulatto worked his way up the coast to tampa, where he burgled a bank. but even then he was not caught, and the climax came when he returned to the neighborhood of lakeville and deliberately fired two houses in the suburbs, causing the death of a woman and two children. the whole neighborhood rose in arms. ducane was caught, and four negroes with him, and jailed with difficulty by the sheriff in the face of a mob yelling to lynch him. and now this human wild beast was at large again, and both the young fellows knew that the first thing he would do would be to hold up the manager of the lone pine mine and rob and murder him. "you see, it's not only revenge," said kinnersly. "the money would mean everything to him and his gang. all in silver, too!" "and sam knows nothing!" cried godfrey. he pulled out his watch. "what time'll he be passing black bayou?" "about eight, i should think." "and it's nearly seven now," muttered godfrey despairingly. "no horse could do it in the time." "you're sure it will be at black bayou?" "not a doubt of it. the place is made for a hold-up. track narrow, thick bay scrub both sides, and there'll be water over the road there, so sam'll have to walk his horse. it's a death-trap, fred." fred kinnersly set his teeth. "i'm going to warn him," he said quietly. godfrey started. "my dear chap, it's fourteen miles by road. have you a horse here that can do fourteen miles in an hour over florida sand and in this storm? besides, you'd have to come through black bayou yourself, and get shot for your pains, to a dead certainty." "there's another way," said fred. "another way!" "across the swamp!" godfrey laughed harshly. "you're crazy, fred." "did you ever hear of the spanish causeway?" asked kinnersly quietly. "that! in this weather! man, it's under water! all of it. and rotten and broken. you couldn't do it in the dry season and in broad daylight. listen!" again the cloud spat blue fire, and the thunder bellowed angrily over the fast darkening forest. kinnersly's jaw hardened. "i'm going to try it. anything's better than that sam should be shot down and murdered." "i tell you it's sheer lunacy. it'll be black dark in half an hour. i wouldn't try it for ten thousand." "you'll try it for sam's life," said kinnersly quietly. godfrey stared hard at the other. "you mean to go?" "i do." "all right. i'm your man." in less than five minutes the two, heavily armed, were tramping rapidly along a narrow path which led down a long, gradual slope toward the swamp. by this time clouds had covered the sky and cut off the light of the setting sun. faster and faster the lightning-flashes shot through the gloom, while the thunder crashed louder and louder till the very ground trembled beneath the reverberations. then came the rain in sheets, as if a cataract was falling on the forest. in a few moments the path was swimming. the men were ankle-deep in water, which foamed under the lash of the falling torrents. they stumbled over twisted roots; long, pliant branches switched their faces; thorny creepers caught and tore their clothes and skin, while now and then the ominous folds of a water-moccasin could be seen in the tangled growth on either side the path. but the two young men never faltered. kinnersly leading, they pressed on in single file. the path grew narrower. here and there kinnersly was forced to slash the tough creeper with his knife before he could force a passage. they were on the level now, and the water was nearly knee-deep. to godfrey, who had never before traveled this path, it was a marvel how kinnersly found his way. gigantic cypresses rose on either side, shutting off the last remnants of light with their monstrous heads of matted foliage; long trails of melancholy spanish moss brushed their faces, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of palmetto bloom. slowly the storm died, passing away into the south, and as the rain ceased the mosquitoes rose in stinging, humming swarms, and the noises of the night swamp burst forth. bullfrogs bellowed, tree-frogs bleated like lost lambs, crickets shrilled, and owls hooted. suddenly kinnersly sank almost to his waist, but struggled up again immediately. "look out, jack. a hole in the causeway," he said quietly. godfrey felt the sucking mud beneath the water, and repressed a shiver. at every step the water seemed to deepen. "shall we do it, fred?" he muttered. "it's more open farther on," replied the other. "if the water's not too deep we'll be all right. if it is, we must do a bit of swimming--that's all." again they plunged on through the hot darkness. water and air alike were stagnant. the close steam of the swamp was suffocating, and the darkness was so intense that godfrey had to follow rather by sound than by sight. all of a sudden the bushes broke away. they were in the open once more. at that very moment the cloud broke, and the moon shone out clear. the white light fell upon a sheet of water, a wide lagoon, which lay smooth as oil, bounded on every side by a black wall of swamp vegetation. "this seems to be where we swim, fred," said godfrey quietly. "no," replied fred. "the causeway crosses, but it's out of sight below the water. come on." "anything's better than those horrible bushes and creepers," said godfrey. he looked at his watch. "fred, it's twenty to eight." "we shall do it," was the confident reply. "it's easier going the far side." as he spoke, kinnersly stepped out from the shore, and, feeling his way cautiously, walked steadily out across the lake. here and there were ugly gaps, but, in the main, the ancient masonry built for some unknown purpose by long-forgotten spaniards was sound. their spirits rose as they pressed on rapidly under the welcome light of the full moon. they were a couple of hundred yards from shore when, all of a sudden, a black object, for all the world like a floating log, rose noiselessly from the depths close on kinnersly's right. he stopped sharply, and godfrey saw him draw his revolver from the holster at his waist. godfrey needed no telling. he knew the nature of the new peril which confronted them. an alligator! slowly, very slowly, the alligator rose till not only its great gnarled head, but the whole of its long ridged back, was above the water. "what a brute!" muttered godfrey, instinctively drawing his big hunting-knife. "get on, fred. the alligator's coming closer." "there's an ugly place just here," replied the other, and godfrey saw his friend sink nearly to his shoulders, recover himself with an effort, and scramble up the far side. "wait; i'll help you, jack," he said, turning. he pulled his friend across the gap, and then as they both stood up on the far side, in water hardly more than ankle-deep, a simultaneous gasp of horror burst from them both. three more alligators had appeared, and, even as they watched, more and more of the hideous monsters rose in ominous silence above the quiet water and came gliding slowly onward toward the causeway. their cruel, unwinking eyes shone like green fire in the moon-rays, and the breathless air was full of a sickening odor of musk. there were dozens of them; from huge, rugged veterans of ten or twelve feet and weighing perhaps half a ton, down to fierce, active, hungry six-footers. for a moment the two young fellows stood hesitating, staring breathlessly at the nightmare spectacle before them. then kinnersly desperately cried: "come on, jack!" "shoot. why don't you shoot?" exclaimed godfrey. "not till i have to," replied kinnersly. "ducane may hear and suspect. if he does, he'll move farther up, and attack sam before we can reach him." "but the brutes are closing in." "never mind. come on. keep close to me, and splash as much as you can." kinnersly walked forward. even in the moonlight he could not see the causeway so much as a step ahead. the thick brown swamp water hid it completely. and both he and godfrey knew that one false step meant a death almost too horrible for words. an alligator fears a man upright on dry land, but in its native element it fears nothing, and will pull down a dog, a horse, a man, or a bull. closer and closer the dreadful brutes closed in till their yard-long jaws actually rested upon the crumbling edges of the sunken causeway. now and then one would open his vast jaws and blow the air through his nostrils with a noise like a giant snoring. then the great yellow tusks would clash together with a sharp, ringing sound horribly suggestive of a steel trap closing. kinnersly, who was leading, found the water growing deeper. "is there a hole there?" cried godfrey anxiously. "afraid there is, old man," replied kinnersly, feeling cautiously with one foot. "we ought to have brought sticks." "the 'gators are closing up behind," said godfrey desperately. "we must shove ahead at any price." "right; i have found bottom. come on." kinnersly dropped onto his knees. immediately the whole horde of alligators began moving up. godfrey, following close behind his friend and splashing vigorously, could not repress a shiver of horror. "quick!" he hissed; "quick, or they'll have us." at that very moment the surface of the water broke in front of kinnersly, and out of the depths heaved itself up a nightmare apparition. an alligator, bigger than any they had seen yet--a gnarled and rugged monster of huge length and enormous girth. getting its short, thick forelegs onto the stonework, it hoisted itself up, completely barring the way. its cavernous mouth gaped open, showing rows of huge, twisted tusks, which could have bitten a bull in two. its fetid breath blew full in kinnersly's face, nearly sickening him with the horrible, putrefying stench. "shoot him!" shouted godfrey. "the others are coming." there was no help for it. kinnersly thrust the muzzle of his pistol almost between the yawning rows of teeth and pulled the trigger. with the report the monstrous brute flung itself high into the air, and fell over sideways with a crash that sent a wave almost over their heads. next instant the placid water of the bayou was beaten into showers of spray, which gleamed silver in the brilliant moonlight. waves dashed over the causeway. the two men stood still, appalled at the fearful death-struggles of the monster. "thank goodness, you got him that time!" exclaimed godfrey, struggling up out of the water onto firmer ground. another moment and all was clear. the great alligator had vanished, and with him the others, frightened at the commotion, had gone, too. "now's our chance!" cried kinnersly, and pushed on with reckless speed. fortunately, the rest of the causeway was unbroken, and they reached the far side of the lagoon in safety. "they're coming up again," muttered godfrey, glancing back. "never mind. they can't hurt us now," cried the other. they were in the brush again, plunging in the mud under the thick shadows of the cypress. neither spoke. it was very near eight, and each moment they expected to hear shots. both dreaded they might be too late. on they rushed, now waist-deep in a morass of mud and rotting vegetation, now struggling through a tangle of wild grape and bamboo vine. at last, after what seemed an endless time, the footing grew firmer and the ground began to rise. the cypress and palmetto gave place to pine and wire grass. "we're close to the road," muttered kinnersly breathlessly. "and i only hope sam hasn't passed." "listen!" hissed the other, pulling up short. "yes, i hear horses' feet." once more they both rushed forward. the hoof-sounds grew plainer, and the red glow of a cigar shone through the pine trunks. kinnersly flung himself recklessly into the open. "sam, is that you?" he hissed desperately. there was a sharp exclamation. "who's that?" "i--kinnersly. stop!" the buggy came to a standstill, and kinnersly panted out his explanation. "you came through the swamp!" exclaimed french, as if he could not believe his ears. "yes, but don't you understand? ducane's loose." "oh, that's all right," said the other coolly. "he'll be down in black bayou, half a mile away. what fazes me is how you chaps came along the causeway. it was mighty white of you, and i'm real grateful. jump in, an' let's git along an' interview this here ducane." for the life of him kinnersly could not help laughing. "sam, don't be a fool! there are probably five of them, and you bet they'll be lying up in the timber. the first you know will be they've shot you." "i reckon not," returned french, as coolly as before. "it's going to cost me a horse, but that's a sight cheaper'n a thousand dollars in united states currency. get right in, boys. i've got it all planned inside here," touching the top of his head. with a shrug of his broad shoulders, kinnersly obeyed, and godfrey followed. "get your shooting-irons ready," said sam, in a low voice, at the same time throwing away his cigar. "now, don't say a word, any of you, or make any noise." he drove on till the ground dipped again and the narrow road descended toward the gloomy shadow of a thicket of bays. then he pulled up, got out, and motioned to the others to do the same. he took out the bags of coin, propped a cushion on the seat with a coat over it, tied the reins to the splash-board, and clucked to the horse to go on. kinnersly chuckled silently. "i see now," he whispered. "glad o' that," remarked sam. "now we'll keep along in the bushes a bit behind the wagon. you come along with me, kinnersly, an', godfrey, you take the nigger. i don't need to tell you to shoot straight when the chance comes." the horse went splashing slowly through the water, here about a foot deep. the four men stole noiselessly along through the bushes on either side. they had gone perhaps a hundred yards, and reached the bottom of the hollow, where the water was axle-deep, when suddenly a rifle crashed, and a spit of fire flashed from the bushes to the right. "got him," came a shout, and men came plunging out of the scrub and surrounded the wagon. "now, lads!" came a crisp command from french, and at the word four weapons spoke simultaneously. three of the robbers dropped in their tracks. the other two stood dumfounded, unable to imagine whence the sudden attack had come. then one of them--ducane himself--gave a yell of defiance, and came charging furiously toward french's party, firing as he ran. a bullet whipped kinnersly's hat from his head. then a second volley rang out, and ducane flung up his hands, and, without a sound, fell over on his back. the fifth man ran for his life. french walked up to the spot where ducane's body floated. a patch of white moonlight fell full on the twisted yellow face, and showed a red hole in the very center of the forehead. "saved the hangman a job," he said quietly. "now i reckon we'll walk back to lakeville, if these other wounded rascals can do the trick. we'll go to the hotel, and the supper's on me to-night, boys." _especially important!!_ motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ 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. 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? 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 "=motor matt; or, the king of the wheel=." 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. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. 1. motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. 2. motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. 3. motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. 4. motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. 32 large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ numbers 1 to 396 tip top weekly are contained in the medal library 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. 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. _the_ new medal library at fifteen cents [illustration] 150--frank merriwell's school-days. 167--frank merriwell's chums. 178--frank merriwell's foes. 184--frank merriwell's trip west. 189--frank merriwell down south. 193--frank merriwell's bravery. 197--frank merriwell's hunting tour. 201--frank merriwell in europe. 205--frank merriwell at yale. 209--frank merriwell's sports afield. 213--frank merriwell's races. 217--frank merriwell's bicycle tour. 225--frank merriwell's courage. 229--frank merriwell's daring. 233--frank merriwell's athletes. 237--frank merriwell's skill. 240--frank merriwell's champions. 244--frank merriwell's return to yale. 247--frank merriwell's secret. 251--frank merriwell's danger. 254--frank merriwell's loyalty. 258--frank merriwell in camp. 262--frank merriwell's vacation. 267--frank merriwell's cruise. 271--frank merriwell's chase. 276--frank merriwell in maine. 280--frank merriwell's struggle. 284--frank merriwell's first job. 288--frank merriwell's opportunity. 292--frank merriwell's hard luck. 296--frank merriwell's protégé. 300--frank merriwell on the road. 304--frank merriwell's own company. 308--frank merriwell's fame. 312--frank merriwell's college chums. 316--frank merriwell's problem. 320--frank merriwell's fortune. 324--frank merriwell's new comedian. 328--frank merriwell's prosperity. 332--frank merriwell's stage hit. 336--frank merriwell's great scheme. 340--frank merriwell in england. 344--frank merriwell on the boulevards. 348--frank merriwell's duel. 352--frank merriwell's double shot. 356--frank merriwell's baseball victories. 359--frank merriwell's confidence. 362--frank merriwell's auto. 365--frank merriwell's fun. 368--frank merriwell's generosity. 371--frank merriwell's tricks. 374--frank merriwell's temptation. 377--frank merriwell on top. 380--frank merriwell's luck. 383--frank merriwell's mascot. 386--frank merriwell's reward. 389--frank merriwell's phantom. 392--frank merriwell's faith. 395--frank merriwell's victories. 398--frank merriwell's iron nerve. 401--frank merriwell in kentucky. 404--frank merriwell's power. 407--frank merriwell's shrewdness. 410--frank merriwell's set-back. 413--frank merriwell's search. 416--frank merriwell's club. 419--frank merriwell's trust. 422--frank merriwell's false friend. 425--frank merriwell's strong arm. 428--frank merriwell as coach. 431--frank merriwell's brother. 434--frank merriwell's marvel. 437--frank merriwell's support. 440--dick merriwell at fardale. 443--dick merriwell's glory. 446--dick merriwell's promise. 449--dick merriwell's rescue. 452--dick merriwell's narrow escape. 455--dick merriwell's racket. 458--dick merriwell's revenge. 461--dick merriwell's ruse. 464--dick merriwell's delivery. 467--dick merriwell's wonders. 470--frank merriwell's honor. 473--dick merriwell's diamond. 476--frank merriwell's winners. 479--dick merriwell's dash. 482--dick merriwell's ability. 485--dick merriwell's trap. 488--dick merriwell's defense. 491--dick merriwell's model. 494--dick merriwell's mystery. =published about january 5th= 497--frank merriwell's backers. =published about january 26th= 500--dick merriwell's backstop. =published about february 16th= 503--dick merriwell's western mission. =published about march 9th= 506--frank merriwell's rescue. =published about march 30th= 509--frank merriwell's encounter. =published about april 20th= 512--dick merriwell's marked money. =published about may 11th= 515--frank merriwell's nomads. =published about june 1st= 518--dick merriwell on the gridiron. =published about june 22nd= 521--dick merriwell's disguise. street & smith, _publishers_, new york city * * * * * * transcriber's note: a table of contents was added. the oe-ligature was used inconsistently in the word "phoenix." in this text file, all oe-ligatures have been expanded to the letters "oe." page 4, changed "macready" to "mcready." page 5, changed double to single quotes around "blow-out." page 6, changed ? to ! in "howdy, clip!" page 11, changed "topppled" to "toppled." page 19, changed "mat flung" to "matt flung." page 24, changed ? to ! in "howdy, matt!" page 27, changed "edth" to "edith." page 28, added missing em-dash to "next number" summary. page 29, removed unnecessary quote before "kinnersly staggered." page 30, changed incorrect character name from godfrey to kinnersly in "'not till i have to,' replied kinnersly." courtesy of the digital library@villanova university (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction no. 1 feb. 27, 1909. five cents motor matt the king of the wheel by stanley r. matthews. [illustration: a thousand dollars if you stop that boy! shouted the man in the back of the touring-car] 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. 1. new york, february 27, 1909. price five cents. motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. by stanley r. matthews. contents chapter i. bad blood. chapter ii. the unexpected. chapter iii. dace shows his hand. chapter iv. welcome shows his hand--with something in it. chapter v. dace perry's craftiness. chapter vi. the try-out. chapter vii. the major's surprise. chapter viii. the rabbitt's foot. chapter ix. matt shows his colors. chapter x. a challenge. chapter xi. foul play. chapter xii. cool villainy. chapter xiii. the bluebell. chapter xiv. coming of the "comet." chapter xv. the flight of the "comet." chapter xvi. motor matt, king of the wheel! the man-hunter. the rat crusade. chapter i. bad blood. "hello, peaches!" 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. 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 phoenix. "i--i don't think i know you," murmured the girl, a look of repugnance crossing her brown, pretty face. "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." after stealing a furtive glance at him the girl took a step backward. "i've seen you, yes," she said quietly, "but i don't know you--and i don't think i care to know you." "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." "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." 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. "you can't believe all you hear, and not more than half you see," he remarked. "where's nutmegs? i know him." "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." perry stared a moment, then gave vent to an amused whistle. "laboratory, eh? well, that's a good one, susie. where's the reformed road-agent? is he in the laboratory joint, too?" "no, welcome has gone into town, but i can call mark if you----" "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?" vivid color mantled the girl's cheeks. "matt is a chum of mark's, and a good friend of mine," 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----" "king has got to make good at the try-out first," scowled perry. "he'll do that, all right," averred susie. "i guess there's no doubt about his being able to beat _you_." "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." sudden interest flashed in susie's face. "what have you heard?" she demanded curiously. so deeply concerned was she in this information about matt king which perry professed to have acquired, that she stepped eagerly to the gate. 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. leaning forward quickly perry flung one arm about the girl's neck. "i reckon you'll know me after this," cried perry, and attempted to give the struggling girl a kiss. 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. 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. "oh, matt, matt!" exclaimed susie. "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. "i guess there's nothing much the matter with me," answered matt coolly, "but you're a good deal of a cur, dace perry." "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. "that's the way i was raised," answered matt. "i reckon the way you was raised gave somebody a lot of trouble," sneered perry. "well, you can bet i'm going to give somebody a lot of trouble if susie is bothered any more." "you're swaggering around with a chip on your shoulder all the time, ain't you?" "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." "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!" "so-long!" answered matt. 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. "i was never so glad of anything in my life, matt," breathed susie, "as to have you get here just when you did." "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." "i hate him!" cried susie, stamping her foot. "he's never been a friend of mark's, nor of yours, either, matt." "i guess mark won't lose any sleep over that, and i know i won't." "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." "that's a cinch. but let's forget dace perry for a while and think of something more pleasant. where's chub, susie?" before the girl could answer, a husky voice was wafted toward the two from along the road. "oh, a bold, bad man was this desperado, an' he blowed inter town like an ole tornado- ta-rooral--ooral--ay!" 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. "here's welcome perkins," said matt, with a broad smile, leaning back against the gate-post and fixing his eyes on the old man. "he's been to town after something for mark," returned susie. 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. 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. _chaparrejos_, 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. 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. "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." "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----" 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. "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!" 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. 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. "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!" chapter ii. the unexpected. 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. 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. "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." 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. "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." "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. "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?" "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." "what's chub trying to invent now?" queried matt, as he and susie started around the house on the trail of perkins. "i think it's smokeless powder," replied susie. "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." 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. 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. "how's the wireless working, susie?" asked matt as they moved toward the canal. "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?" "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----" just then something _did_ 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. 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. "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!" 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. without waiting to explain matters to matt and susie, chub darted after welcome. "goodness' sakes," screamed susie, "the laboratory is burning up!" "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." 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. "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." "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?" "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." 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. "perk," chub was shouting, "i told you to get alcohol, _alcohol_! what was it you brought back?" "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." "and there was me," snorted chub, "trying to mix sulfuric acid with gunpowder. say, perk!" "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." "perk," counseled chub, "you jump into the canal again and stay there." "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!" 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. "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?" "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." "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." before susie left she cast a significant look at matt. "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." "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----" "it's not that altogether, chub," interrupted matt. "you see, i've got to leave phoenix, and i want to talk with you about it." 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. "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." "that's just the size of it, matt," returned chub. "say, if you leave ph[oe]nix 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?" chapter iii. dace shows his hand. "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." "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!" "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." "you're a jim-dandy, matt. say, i didn't think of that," gasped chub. "well, old chum, sit up and take notice of these things, and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble. i've been thinking 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." chub stared at his chum in open-mouthed admiration. "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!" 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. "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." 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 phoenix 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." "phoenix 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 _now_." "you're crazy!" gasped chub. "why, you'll graduate in june, and you can't think of leaving school before that." "i've got to," returned matt firmly. "i've been rubbing the lamp too long for my own good." "what do you mean by 'rubbing the lamp'?" "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." "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." "and more enemies," added matt, gripping hard the eager hand chub reached out to him. "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." "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----" "bully for uncle jonas!" ejaculated chub joyously. "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 phoenix, arizona, go to school, and wait for further word from the writer, which i should receive inside of six months." chub's eyes were wide with interest and curiosity. "that sounds like you'd copped it out of the arabian nights, matt," said he. "who sent you that letter? some uncle in india?" "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 phoenix and i'm"--matt laughed--"well, i'm about dead broke, and i've got to get to work." "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?" chub was enthusiastic. his eyes glowed as he hung breathlessly upon matt's answer. "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 _earn_." 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." chub was silent for a space. when matt king used that tone of voice he knew there was no arguing with him. "you can't break away from phoenix right away, anyhow," said chub gloomily. "there's the phoenix-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." "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." 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?" 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 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. 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. 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. 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. "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." chapter iv. welcome shows his hand--with something in it. "why didn't you bring the whole gang, perry?" inquired chub, with one of his most tantalizing grins. "billy dill seems to be missing." clipperton, easily swayed by any one who took the right course, hated subterfuge, and was peculiarly outspoken. "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." "i reckon there are," remarked chub, his grin broadening dangerously. "all you fellows need is a few feathers to be a whole tribe." 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. "cut it out, chub," muttered matt; "clip's not responsible for this." 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. "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." "that's right," snapped perry, "crawfish! it's about what i'd expect of you." there was a glint in matt's eyes as he whirled on perry. "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 don't think_ you're going to interfere." "we've got perry's side of it," said "ratty" spangler, a youth well nicknamed, "and that's enough for _us_. eh, boys?" the chorus of affirmatives was short one voice--that of splinters. "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." "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." 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. "wait!" cautioned matt. "i guess you'll get all the rough-house you want, chub, before we're done." a chorus of jeers came from perry's followers--splinters excepted. "that'll do me," said splinters, turning on his heel and starting off. "where you going, tuohy?" shouted perry. "home," was the curt response. "you're taking this tenderfoot's word against mine?" "i'm sorry----" "come back here, then!" "sorry king didn't do more than slam you into the road. oh, you're the limit." "either you come back here or you quit the team," yelled perry, his voice quivering with rage. "much obliged," flung back splinters, keeping on into the timber; "it's a pleasure to quit." 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. 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. 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. 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. matt, notwithstanding the fact that perry and spangler 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. a moment of silence followed the loud splash clipperton made in the water, a silence broken by a shout from perry. "let's throw the tenderfoot after clip, fellows! into the canal with him!" 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. 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. "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." 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. in phoenix 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. 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. "come on, boys!" called perry sullenly, facing about and starting along the bank at a slow trot. the rest fell in behind him and trailed out of sight among the trees. chub began to laugh. "why, you old practical joke!" he gasped, "that gun's about as dangerous as a piece of bologna sausage." 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 _bein'_ 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. "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 _my_ 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." chapter v. dace perry's craftiness. 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, 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. 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. 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 phoenix and left him there in charge of a friend who happened to be the principal of the phoenix 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. 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. 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. 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. "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?" "it wasn't him," piped tubbits drake; "it was nutmegs, although it looked mighty like king did it." "i say it was king," scowled perry. "oh, well," grumbled tubbits, "if you say it was king, all right." 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." "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 _thinks_ king did it, and there's been trouble. just let clip keep on thinking the way he does." "sure," said ratty spangler. "if anybody wants to know about who shied the rock, we'll all say it was the tenderfoot." "that's all," responded perry curtly, and trotted on to the bridge. 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. "how're you coming, clip?" he asked. 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. "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." "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?" "we all saw him make that pass at you!" averred ratty spangler. "didn't we, fellers?" "we did!" all the rest answered as one. the breath came sharp through clipperton's lips. "he'll pay for it," he hissed. "you watch my smoke and see." "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?" "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." "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 _him_--just take it from me." clipperton turned a half-distrustful look on perry. "i'm no coward," he muttered. "man to man. that's the way to settle everything." "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." "d'you think that?" demanded clipperton huskily. "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." "what would you do?" "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." clipperton looked startled. "what's my shooting got to do with it?" "well," went on perry, "have you got a gun, or can you get one?" tubbits and ratty spangler grew morbidly apprehensive. "looky here, dace," demurred tubbits, "don't let clip go and do anything rash." "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?" "yes," was the reply. "what do you want me to do with it?" perry turned to the boys behind. "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." "mum it is," said the cross-country squad obediently, and drew away from the plotters. "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?" 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. "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." "we could jerk him up for that," asserted ratty. "say, if we'd have him arrested----" "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." 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. chapter vi. the try-out. "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." 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 phoenix athletic club. "protã©gã© of yours, major?" inquired the governor, striking a match. "not much, jack," answered the major. "i don't believe in protã©gã©s, 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." 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. 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. "'rah! 'rah! 'rah! do or die! phoenix! phoenix! phoenix high!" the athletic clubs of both phoenix 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. 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. "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. "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. "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. 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----" "all ready, boys!" came the voice of the starter. 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. "hurry up, king!" shouted the starter. "what's the matter with you?" "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." "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----" "he's lost his nerve, that's what's the matter with him." 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. "quitter!" scoffed a voice in the crowd. "dry up, perry!" called the starter. "you too, spangler. neither of you has any call to butt in." matt left the fence and advanced slowly across the track toward perry. "i've lost my nerve, have i, dace perry?" matt inquired, with a half-laugh. "what else do you call it?" demanded perry, keeping his black eyes warily on the other's face. 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. "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?" half a dozen in the high-school crowd set up a yell. "take mine, matt; take mine!" "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." "you bet!" chirruped splinters, bounding away. "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?" "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?" carter was in a quandary, and cast an upward look toward major woolford. "what do you say to that, major?" he asked. "if we select you to represent the phoenix 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?" a touch of red ran into matt's face. "i may not be in phoenix when the prescott fellows come down, major," he replied. "i'll take chances on that," growled the major. "try him out, carter." 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." "much obliged, splinters," returned matt, rolling the bicycle to the tape, "but i'll race as i stand." 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. "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." 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. 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. "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 _form_ of him, will you? great! man alive, it's just simply _superb_!" "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. "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----" 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 _crack_ cut the air from some point below the grand stand. simultaneously with the incisive note, matt's bicycle was seen to swerve suddenly across perry's path. perry's wheel rushed into matt's with a rattling crash and both riders were flung to the ground with terrific force. "great guns!" gasped the major, aghast. "i wonder if they're killed?" "we'd better go and find out," returned the governor grimly. hurrying down the stairs, the major and the governor joined the excited crowd that was flocking toward the scene of the mishap. chapter vii. the major's surprise. 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. 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. "is he killed? how badly is he hurt? what caused the smash?" 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. "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." "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?" "the tire blew up," answered matt coolly. "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?" "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!" "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." "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!" "clear out!" growled the major, "you're locoed. who'd want to take a shot at matt king? what do _you_ think about it, my lad?" and the major turned to matt. matt had dropped down and susie was pushing back his torn sleeve. "the tire went up, major," said matt quietly; "that's all i know about it." "see here," cried susie, holding matt's bare forearm for the major to see, "matt's hurt worse than dace perry." "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?" 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. "how d'ye feel, dace?" inquired tubbits drake anxiously, bending down over perry. "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?" "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." "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?" "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." 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. "you fellows were coming toward the lower end of the grand stand when the accident happened," said he; "did you see any one there?" "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." "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." 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. this time there was no suspicious bursting of a tire, and at the conclusion the major spoke up: "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?" the major was trying bluffly to appear at his ease, but it was quite clear that his mind was far from serene. "my man is here with the horse and buggy, major," replied the governor, "and i've got some important business 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. mike was coming up with the major's motor-car, and the proprietor reached out and took matt by the arm. "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. "get the wheel fixed up, splinters," called matt; "i'll stand the damage." "no, you won't, old chap," answered splinters. "you've stood enough damage as it is." "home, mike," said the major, and the car moved off across the track and toward the wagon-road. 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. "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." "i haven't any opinion, major," said matt. "you know as much as i do." "but did you hear the report of a revolver?" "i thought i did." the major muttered savagely. "have you any enemy lawless enough to take that way of doing you up?" "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." "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?" "it will be as good as ever in a few days." 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. 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." "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 phoenix for that race with prescott." 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! 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. "great hanky-pank!" he exclaimed, as the machine, glossy and bright in every part, was brought to a stop between him and the major. "like the looks of her?" laughed the major. "she's a fair daisy and no mistake!" cried matt delightedly. 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. "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?" on the gasoline-tank, back of the saddle, the word _comet_ was lettered in gold. "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." "i reckon you know how to ride one of the things, eh? jump on and try her a whirl." "may i?" returned matt, as though he thought the major's invitation too good to be true. "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." 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. 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. "how does she run?" asked the major. "it's the slickest thing on wheels!" returned matt enthusiastically. "i never saw anything finer." "how would you like to own her?" matt had got down from the saddle and mike was steadying the machine. the major's words staggered the lad. "own her?" cried matt; "i?" "why not?" the major leaned toward him and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "the _comet_ goes to the winner of the bicycle-race. you can own her, king, if you want to!" chapter viii. the rabbitt's foot. 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. matt's bosom swelled as he eyed the beautiful machine, and his mind circled about ways and means for staying in phoenix until the phoenix-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 phoenix, 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? even as he put the question to himself, quick as a flash the answer came: "ride the _comet_ to denver, to chicago, to new york--wherever you want to go!" the idea electrified the boy. "i'll be in that race, major," he cried, turning to the president of the athletic club, "_and i'll win the prize_!" "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." "who races for prescott?" asked matt. "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." "then you don't really need me, major?" said matt. "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." "you bet you are, major," averred matt, "if racing will win it." 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. the machinery of the _comet_ 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 _comet_ was his he knew his arm would be as well as ever. 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. "somebody died and left you a million?" inquired chub. "you look as chipper as an injun squaw with a string of new beads." "well," laughed matt, "i do feel just a little hilarious." "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." "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 phoenix for the athletic-club contests. 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. "bully!" exclaimed chub. "you'll win that motor-cycle hands down--provided you're not interfered with." "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." 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. "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." "that's mighty slim evidence for a charge against clipperton, chub," said matt gravely. "don't be rash." "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 _you_ 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." "you didn't?" exclaimed matt. "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 _know_ 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." matt was thoughtful for a minute. "well, what of it?" he asked presently. "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." "all right," said matt cheerfully, "i've had trouble before." "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 _you_ didn't come in for the consequences." "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." "_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?" 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. "what about that?" asked matt, wondering what the luck-bringer had to do with the affair at the track. "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!" 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. matt drew in a quick breath and turned his startled eyes on chub. "_now_ 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 _this_!" chapter ix. matt shows his colors. 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. "let me win if i may when the game's afoot; let me master my fate when i choose her: playing square with myself in the fight, my boy, if i fail let me be a good loser." from chub's triumphant face, matt's eyes wandered to the lines on the card and dwelt there for a time. "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." 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. "what did perry hope to gain by having clip shoot a bullet into my tire?" queried matt musingly. "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." in his eagerness chub reached for his hat. "i guess we won't," said matt. "shucks!" gasped chub; "you're not going to show up that pair and make 'em take their medicine?" "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 phoenix 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?" "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?" "you bet i do mean it, chub. if you're a chum of mine you'll do as i tell you." 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." 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? "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." "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." "if i get time i may run over," answered matt, "but don't look for me." 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. "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--_hawley, the gambler_!" mrs. spooner's voice sank to a frightened whisper. "dirk hawley!" muttered chub, staring at matt. "sugar, what in tunket can the blackleg want with you?" 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. "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." chub hesitated a moment as though he would like to stay for the interview, but finally he left, passing hawley on the stairs. dirk hawley owned one of the largest gambling-dens in phoenix, 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. "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. "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." hawley drew down the lid of his right eye and chuckled. "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." 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. "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 phoenix. 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?" matt was not expecting anything like this. for a moment it took his breath. misinterpreting the boy's silence, hawley fairly radiated genial confidence. "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 phoenix-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 phoenix-prescott side-show, i tucks five hundred of the long green in your little hand and sends you north to-morrow. what say?" 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. "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." "ain't my money as good as anybody else's?" flared hawley, losing some of his amiability. "i'm not talking about money. what i want to say is that you and i can't hitch up worth a cent." "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." matt had a thought just then that touched him like a live wire. "you're trying to keep me out of that phoenix-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?" dirk hawley got up, shoved the roll of bills into his pocket, and moved to the door. "you're too wise for your own good, my bantam," he 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." 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. chapter x. a challenge. 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 phoenix-prescott race, and was willing to spend $500 in order to do so. but what was his reason? 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. "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 phoenix end against o'day?" "probably he wants to be fit for the race of his life in case anything happens to me," said matt. "well, you take care that nothing happens to you, matt," cautioned chub. 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. the prescott athletic club, with several hundred prescott rooters, was to come to phoenix by special train on saturday forenoon. on the afternoon of friday, the day preceding the "big meet"--as all loyal phoenix 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. 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. "matt king: 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 "tom clipperton. "p.s.--there's a moon." "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 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." crumpling up the note, matt threw it into a waste-basket. "i'll have to give him a licking, though, if he won't have it any other way," he added under his breath. 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. 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 phoenix. 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. 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. 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. "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." 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. "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 _comet_, eh?" "i'm going to win that race, chub," answered matt, with quiet confidence. "wish i was as sure of inventing a flying-machine as i am that you're going to beat out o'day." "is that what you're going to do next--invent a flying-machine?" laughed matt. "either that or build an automobile." "build an automobile," suggested susie; "you won't have so far to fall if anything gives out." 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. "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----" "what's on your mind, welcome?" said matt, trying to pin the old man down to more facts and less language. "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----" "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." "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." chapter xi. foul play. "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 phoenix man!" "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." "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." "tell it, welcome," urged matt; "i'll try not to be shocked." "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?" 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. 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 phoenix 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 phoenix people believe that he was preparing to do his best in case he had the opportunity to race with o'day. 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. "somethin' has got to be did!" declared welcome in an explosive whisper. "it's up to you, pard." "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." "but, say----" "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. just below the bridge he waited until he heard the _pat_, _pat_ 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. 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? standing there on the canal-bank, with the moonlight sifting through the cottonwood branches in silver patches, matt king did some hard thinking. 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. 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? 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. "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." "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." "what's the good of talk? either you're going to get a good licking or i am. let's see which." "we'll see which in about two minutes. when we faced each other in this place nearly two weeks ago, you came here with perry. i told all of you why perry came----" "perry told us, too. i'm taking perry's word, not yours." "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----" a snarl rushed from clipperton's lips. "if you think i'm enough of an indian to do that----" "i don't." "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. "there was a mistake about that rock," matt went on coolly. "it wasn't thrown at you, but at perry." "perry says different. that you threw it at me." "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." 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. "where'd you get this?" asked clipperton. "it was found under the grand stand where you dropped it when you fired at my wheel." clipperton was silent, standing rigid and erect in the moonlight. there was a queer gleam in his eyes as he fixed them on matt. "how many have you told that to?" he demanded. "not one. if i had, you wouldn't be in that mile run to-morrow." as matt finished speaking clipperton leaped forward abruptly. "look out!" he called. 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. "stand off!" he heard clipperton yell furiously. "he's here to fight me! what does this----" "shut up, you fool!" threatened a voice, and was followed by a rush of feet in clipperton's direction. 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. "quick!" muttered a voice. "where's that rope?" 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. 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 _chug chug_ 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. chapter xii. cool villainy. 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. 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. 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. 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. "where am i?" called matt. the man turned his grizzled face in matt's direction. "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 _jacal_ in the foot-hills o' the phoenix mountains, about twenty miles from the capital of arizony territory. anythin' else ye're pinin' ter know?" "who brought me here?" demanded matt. "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?" "this is no time for foolishness," said matt. "i was dragged away from phoenix against my will, and the best thing you can do is to take these ropes off me and let me go." "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." "by and by? when will that be?" "after them races are over in phoenix." matt's freshly awakened brain was just beginning to get a grasp of the situation. "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. "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." "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." "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." "but i'm to ride in that bicycle-race to-morrow!" "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." "i haven't changed my mind," answered matt desperately. "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." 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. 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. 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 phoenix 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. 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 _comet_ would go to o'day--and go to him unfairly. besides, matt had set his heart on having the _comet_ for his own, and all his future plans clustered about his ownership of that splendid machine. he must get away, he _must_! by hook or crook he was in duty bound to get back to phoenix in time for the bicycle-race, and to confront hawley and perry and foil their villainous plans. but how was he to escape? 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. 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. "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." the cowboy began fishing some crackers and cheese out of a paper bag. "can't you take the ropes off my hands while i eat?" asked matt. "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?" 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. 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. "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." "i try to be a good loser," said matt. "that's you! bicycle-races ain't all thar is in this world." "what time is it?" "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." 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! and there was matt, a prisoner, and twenty miles from phoenix! "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." 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." 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. 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. 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." 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 phoenix club in the matter of points. phoenix 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 phoenix 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. in his mind, as he lay helpless there on the floor of that abandoned _jacal_, 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 phoenix 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 _was_ hard to be a good loser. 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. "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 phoenix in time fer that bicycle-race." 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. "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." 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. 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. "clipperton!" whispered matt, scarcely knowing whether he was awake or dreaming. 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. "come!" breathed clipperton huskily. "time is short. the man will be back." 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. chapter xiii. the bluebell. 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 _jacal_, they were unable to see anything of the man. 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. "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 _ride_." "where did you come from, clipperton?" asked matt. "phoenix." "how did you come?" "on foot. didn't dare look for a horse. afraid they'd find out and stop me." matt halted and laid a hand on clipperton's arm. "did you come out here, all the way from phoenix, on foot, to help me?" he asked quietly. "why not?" flamed clipperton. "i got you into the 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." swirling hate poured out with the words. clipperton was breathing hard and talked in husky gasps. "you were to do that mile race at two o'clock," said matt. "i did a twenty-mile race; somewhat earlier." "why, that race was as good as a hundred dollars to you!" "if i win this it'll please me more." "you've won it, clip," said matt, in a low tone. "you've got me away from that hut." "i haven't won it!" cried clipperton. "it's won when you face the starter on your wheel and cut out perry. the coyote!" "you've found out about perry?" clipperton muttered something in a savage undertone. matt put out his hand and clipperton clasped it quickly. "i guess we understand each other, clip," said matt. "how far away is the bluebell?" "at the end of this valley. hurry. you've _got_ to get to phoenix in time." "i don't see how i can, even with a horse." "you can. you _must_!" 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. "how did you find out where i had been taken, clip?" queried matt. "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 _now_." 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. 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. "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----" "i know what you thought, delray," said matt hurriedly. "i was abducted from phoenix last night in order to keep me out of the race. i was being held a prisoner----" "at pedro garcia's old _jacal_," interpolated clipperton. "and clip, here, got me away," went on matt. "i have to get to phoenix by four o'clock." 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 phoenix. that's a deuce of a note. abducted by hawley! thunder! what did he do that for?" "let him take your horse," cried clipperton, sinking down in the shade. "he can make it!" "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." a half-stifled groan broke from clipperton's lips. matt and delray, looking toward him, saw that he had his face in his hands. "what's the matter with him, matt?" asked delray. "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 phoenix. matt walked over to clipperton. "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----" 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. "great cã¦sar's ghost!" cried delray, "have you gone dippy, matt?" "is that wireless apparatus working?" shouted matt. "it was, last night." "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." "what the blazes----" delray stared. "say, matt, do you think i can send you through to phoenix by wireless?" "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 _chance_!" while the dazed delray went into the house and sat 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. "i don't know why you think i can get anybody in phoenix 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." 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! clipperton thrust his drawn face in at the door. his eyes glowed with a hope which was past his understanding. 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. 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." "tell susie i'm here," said matt; "tell her i was abducted from phoenix 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 caã±on road on the _comet_ as fast as he can come; have susie tell the major to tell penny that everything depends on the record he makes between phoenix and the bluebell, and that i'll walk along the black caã±on road to meet him and save a little time. shoot 'er through! hustle, old chap." "oh, tell, tell, tell!" groaned delray. "why, you're talking like a house afire. here goes." _click_, _click_, _clickety-click_, 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. "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!" matt was already through the door and striking a bee-line for the black caã±on road, which ran past the derrick. clipperton had caught his second wind and was following him. chapter xiv. coming of the "comet." 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 caã±on road with the _comet_ in time for matt to make such a run into phoenix 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. in the first place, everything depended on the quickness with which a number of intricate details were accomplished in phoenix--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. 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 _could_ get the major on the phone, matt knew that the energetic president of the phoenix club would move heaven and earth to find penny and start him along the black caã±on road. 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. 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. "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!" "you can make a better one," panted clipperton. "i want you to make good. but how are you going to? put me next." 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 phoenix end of the route. 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. "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 _comet_. fine! motor matt, mile-a-minute matt, king of the wheel. say, you're a wonder." "not so you can notice it, clip, not yet. just now, all i can do is to hope for the best." 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. there were several canals in salt river valley and contiguous to phoenix, 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. pausing on the "rise," matt and clipperton peered across the glimmering yellow sands. a fork in the road lay below them. "the branch goes to pedro garcia's old _jacal_ and beyond," said clip. "look!" he added excitedly. 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. "the cowboy!" muttered matt. at that distance he could not identify the figure, but intuition told him who it must be. "yes," returned clipperton grimly. "he thinks we started for phoenix." "what time is it now, clip?" "we're four miles from the bluebell. it's taken us an hour. so it must be nearly three." "sixteen miles from phoenix 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 _comet_. somebody hasn't been able to make good and i guess i'm let out." "no!" shouted clip. "what's that coming this way? see!" 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. 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 _comet_. he was shooting for the hills like a cannon-ball. "hurrah!" yelled clipperton, jerking off his cap and throwing it into the air. "motor matt is going to win!" the _comet_ 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. "that you, king?" queried penny, dizzy and staggering. "yes!" shouted matt, gripping the brave fellow's hand. "bully boy, penny! how's everything at the park?" "panic! mile race lost because clip wasn't there. all phoenix 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 _comet_ 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!" matt and clip were lifting the _comet_ around. clip held the machine while matt rose to the saddle. "wait!" roared penny; "don't start yet." "why not?" asked matt. "hawley is coming! see that dust? pull the _comet_ 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." here was startling news--news that might snatch success out of matt's hands just when the prospect of victory seemed brightest. 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. "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?" "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!" 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. "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 _comet_. wait until the car is close to the cowboy. then make a rush." "for heaven's sake," begged penny, "beat him in, matt! the _comet_ can do it." "the _comet_ is going to do it," said matt, between his teeth. all three of the boys watched while the motor-car flung itself up the gentle slope toward the cowboy. "now!" said clip, starting up and laying hold of the _comet_. they trundled the machine back into the road and matt got into the saddle and laid hands on the grip-control. "ready?" cried penny. "let her go!" answered matt. penny and clip gave him a shove. _pop_, _pop_, _pop_, 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. "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!" 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. penny danced around excitedly. "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?" "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." "that's right, clip," explained penny. "it's up to matt, now." "leave it to him. the game couldn't be in better hands." then, with staring eyes, clip and penny watched the two dust flurries. the cloud kicked up by the _comet_ passed the forks of the road a full minute ahead of the fog raised by the motor-car. "three groans for hawley!" chortled clip. "but that man at the bridge," groaned penny. "he sure is worrying me." chapter xv. the flight of the "comet." matt king was on his mettle. phoenix 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 _could_ and would! 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. 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. 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. matt laughed as he rushed onward. he felt that the race was his, barring accidents; and the _comet_ was brand-new, and careful handling made accidents a remote possibility. 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. 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! 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 _boom_ of an explosion. under his eyes the bridge seemed to rise up and drop back into the canal. 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. 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. 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 _comet's_ flight. gritting his teeth matt speeded up the machine, tore down the slope and took the end of the timber at a bound. 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. "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! 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. 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. 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. fortunately there were few travelers on the black caã±on 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. 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. 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. 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. 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 _comet_ ate up the miles as she had not yet done. mile-a-minute matt! he was true to the name, now, and phoenix had never been traversed from end to end as he was doing it. 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. "hoop-a-la!" roared the man, waving his hat. "in with you! not a minute to spare." toward the race-course he guided the _comet_. 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!" close to the dressing-rooms matt pulled up. the major was there, chub was there, susie was there--and perk. they _knew_ he would arrive, and they had everything ready. "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." susie grabbed him and, in her excitement, landed an ecstatic kiss on his dusty face. "motor matt!" she cried, waving the high-school colors. "_now_ will prescott high be good?" "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." matt was torn from the selfsame grip by major woolford. "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." 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. "matt king is entered to race for phoenix 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, phoenix substitutes her second choice, dace----" "_king is here!_" it was the booming voice of major woolford, just crossing the track to take his place in the judges' stand. simultaneously with the words, matt, in his nondescript racing-attire, made his way along the track toward the tape. 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. 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 paddock. his thunderstruck adherents, spangler, drake and the others, were waiting to offer what consolation they could give. following the breathless pause, a veritable roar went up from the grand stand and all around the track. it was a phoenix roar, of course, and it was phoenix 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--phoenix colors--and the flags of prescott high were temporarily retired. "king, king, king-king-king!" chanted phoenix high, in unison. "oh, he ain't so much!" came a feeble wail through a megaphone. "hold your shouting until after the race!" "drown him!" whooped phoenix. "send him to the asylum! back, back to the padded cell!" 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. "buck up, o'day!" implored the prescott rooters. "you can do the trick! don't let him throw a scare into you. _he's ridden twenty miles and he must be about all in!_" 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. the two racers took their places, hugged by a couple of men at the saddles. "all ready?" _bang!_ matt was hurled down the track. for the first time since he had left clip and penny his feet were busy, more than busy. chapter xvi. motor matt, king of the wheel! 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. phoenix swarmed down from the grand stand and tumbled over fences all around the oval. the phoenix 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. "'rah! 'rah! 'rah! do or die! phoenix! phoenix! phoenix high!" 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. phoenix 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. 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. "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." 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. "this is yours, king," called major woolford blithely, pointing to the _comet_, now well groomed after her dusty trip, and sparkling like a brand-new dollar. "will you ride it home or shall we send it?" "send it, major!" cried chub, "he's going home with us!" 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. 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. just as he finished, tom clipperton showed himself in the doorway. "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." clip would have turned away from the open door had chub not jumped for him and dragged him inside. "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----" "i know," answered clip. "got it out of drake." "are we pards? if i've ever said anything you don't like, i ask your pardon. how's that? shucks! i'm so plumb happy this afternoon i want to be at peace with all creation. shake!" chub extended his hand, and clipperton, with a slow, quiet smile rarely seen on his face, caught the same heartily. "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----" "get away if you can!" snorted chub, "i----" the sounder in the corner began to click. chub broke off abruptly and leaped for the machine. "dry up, all of you!" he cried. "delray's telling me something." "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." "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!" chub grabbed the key and rattled away at it until the spark-gap was fairly blue. "i reckon that will put _him_ next," laughed chub; "hear what he's sending now--it's just one word--'hooray!'" 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. "i want to propose a toast," said he, "and we'll drink it in adam's ale--standing, if you please." the party arose and picked up their water-glasses. "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!" "hear, hear!" yelped welcome perkins, pounding with his wooden leg. susie blushed crimson and sank into her chair. "just a minute, before you sit down," said chub. "allow _me_ 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 phoenix high or any other school!" this was greeted with cheers and it could be seen that clip was mightily pleased. a warm glow smoldered in his dark eyes. "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!" a roar of laughter greeted this toast. "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!" 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. "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?" 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. "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." "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." "will you drink the toast, clip?" asked matt, fixing his eyes on the shining orbs of the quarter-blood. "i--i wish i was more like you, king," faltered clip. "o'day, perry, spangler and drake," went on matt. "will you take them, pards?" every glass was lifted but clipperton's. he continued to look at matt, then slowly raised his glass to his lips. it was a trifling thing, perhaps, but for tom clipperton it meant much. the end. 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: motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. 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. motor stories thrilling adventure motor fiction new york, february 27, 1909. terms to motor stories mail subscribers. (_postage free._) single copies or back numbers, 5c. each. 3 months 65c. 4 months 85c. 6 months $1.25 one year 2.50 2 copies one year 4.00 1 copy two years 4.00 =how to send money=--by post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. at your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter. =receipts=--receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. if not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once. ormond g. smith, } george c. smith, } _proprietors_. =street & smith, publishers, 79-89 seventh avenue, new york city.= the man-hunter. 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. 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. 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. 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. "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!" 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. "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!" 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. "where on earth did you get that, jack?" he whispered. "is it tame?" "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." 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. "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." 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. "greeting, child of the seleke," he said solemnly. "have you any wish to lay before the white travelers who venture into your domains?" 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. "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." both paul and jack surveyed him suspiciously. his friendliness was both unexpected and extraordinary to any one cognizant, as they were, with the customs of the african of the interior. 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. "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." "ask him what he wants," proposed the other. "if we kick him out, he'll be potting at us with that sardine-opener." nodding, paul turned to the native again. "what are you called, o child of the seleke?" he asked, reverting to the man's own dialect. "i am called n'tshu gontze," was the dignified response. "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." "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. "we are the victims of a terrible scourge, and we would 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." the two hunters listened to this impassioned harangue with close attention. it not only explained the native's curious appearance, but, if true, it was a guarantee of their own safety. "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." gontze nodded. "it is known. follow me, godsmen from the sun, and you shall be feasted and rewarded royally." paul, who was quick in coming to a decision, nodded assent. 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. 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. 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. 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. "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." paul's conjecture proved a correct one. 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. 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. 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. "welcome, white men! may you live forever, and remember always the kraal of moshesh with happiness! be you seated." 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. 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. 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. 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. paul, who was the spokesman, allowed the chief to bring his rambling recital to an end before he spoke. "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." "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." 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. 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. 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. 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. "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." 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. "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." "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." paul armstrong nodded, and stepped aside to confer with his chum. 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. 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. "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." the seleke listened in amazement to this proposition. "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!" "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." 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. 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. 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. 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. the noise of the lion's snoring had ceased! 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. 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. 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. "i'm afraid to shoot from here, paul. i'm coming down." 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. phat! phat! 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. the rat crusade. 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. 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. 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. especially important!! motor stories _a new idea in the way of five-cent weeklies._ 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. 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? 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 ="motor matt; or, the king of the wheel."= 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. here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. do not fail to place an order for them with your newsdealer. no. 1. motor matt; or, the king of the wheel. no. 2. motor matt's daring; or, true to his friends. no. 3. motor matt's "century" run; or, the governor's courier. no. 4. motor matt's race; or, the last flight of the _comet_. 32 large size pages splendid colored covers price, five cents per copy at all newsdealers, or sent postpaid by the publishers upon receipt of the price. _street & smith, publishers, new york_ numbers 1 to 396 tip top weekly are contained in the medal library 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. 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. _the_ new medal library at fifteen cents [illustration] 150--frank merriwell's school-days. 167--frank merriwell's chums. 178--frank merriwell's foes. 184--frank merriwell's trip west. 189--frank merriwell down south. 193--frank merriwell's bravery. 197--frank merriwell's hunting tour. 201--frank merriwell in europe. 205--frank merriwell at yale. 209--frank merriwell's sports afield. 213--frank merriwell's races. 217--frank merriwell's bicycle tour. 225--frank merriwell's courage. 229--frank merriwell's daring. 233--frank merriwell's athletes. 237--frank merriwell's skill. 240--frank merriwell's champions. 244--frank merriwell's return to yale. 247--frank merriwell's secret. 251--frank merriwell's danger. 254--frank merriwell's loyalty. 258--frank merriwell in camp. 262--frank merriwell's vacation. 267--frank merriwell's cruise. 271--frank merriwell's chase. 276--frank merriwell in maine. 280--frank merriwell's struggle. 284--frank merriwell's first job. 288--frank merriwell's opportunity. 292--frank merriwell's hard luck. 296--frank merriwell's protã©gã©. 300--frank merriwell on the road. 304--frank merriwell's own company. 308--frank merriwell's fame. 312--frank merriwell's college chums. 316--frank merriwell's problem. 320--frank merriwell's fortune. 324--frank merriwell's new comedian. 328--frank merriwell's prosperity. 332--frank merriwell's stage hit. 336--frank merriwell's great scheme. 340--frank merriwell in england. 344--frank merriwell on the boulevards. 348--frank merriwell's duel. 352--frank merriwell's double shot. 356--frank merriwell's baseball victories. 359--frank merriwell's confidence. 362--frank merriwell's auto. 365--frank merriwell's fun. 368--frank merriwell's generosity. 371--frank merriwell's tricks. 374--frank merriwell's temptation. 377--frank merriwell on top. 380--frank merriwell's luck. 383--frank merriwell's mascot. 386--frank merriwell's reward. 389--frank merriwell's phantom. 392--frank merriwell's faith. 395--frank merriwell's victories. 398--frank merriwell's iron nerve. 401--frank merriwell in kentucky. 404--frank merriwell's power. 407--frank merriwell's shrewdness. 410--frank merriwell's set-back. 413--frank merriwell's search. 416--frank merriwell's club. 419--frank merriwell's trust. 422--frank merriwell's false friend. 425--frank merriwell's strong arm. 428--frank merriwell as coach. 431--frank merriwell's brother. 434--frank merriwell's marvel. 437--frank merriwell's support. 440--dick merriwell at fardale. 443--dick merriwell's glory. 446--dick merriwell's promise. 449--dick merriwell's rescue. 452--dick merriwell's narrow escape. 455--dick merriwell's racket. 458--dick merriwell's revenge. 461--dick merriwell's ruse. 464--dick merriwell's delivery. 467--dick merriwell's wonders. 470--frank merriwell's honor. 473--dick merriwell's diamond. 476--frank merriwell's winners. 479--dick merriwell's dash. 482--dick merriwell's ability. 485--dick merriwell's trap. 488--dick merriwell's defense. 491--dick merriwell's model. 494--dick merriwell's mystery. =published about january 5th= 497--frank merriwell's backers. =published about january 26th= 500--dick merriwell's backstop. =published about february 16th= 503--dick merriwell's western mission. =published about march 9th= 506--frank merriwell's rescue. =published about march 30th= 509--frank merriwell's encounter. =published about april 20th= 512--dick merriwell's marked money. =published about may 11th= 515--frank merriwell's nomads. =published about june 1st= 518--dick merriwell on the gridiron. =published about june 22nd= 521--dick merriwell's disguise. street & smith, _publishers_, new york city transcriber's notes: added table of contents. some inconsistent hyphenation retained (e.g. "wildfire" vs. "wild-fire"). oe ligatures have been replaced with "oe" in this text edition; the html version retains the ligatures. italics are represented by _underscores_, bold by =equal signs=. page 5, changed "wiseless" to "wireless." page 7, added missing "s" to "chum's." page 9, changed "fencee" to "fence." page 14, added missing period after "superstitious" and changed "ringing" to "bringing." page 20, changed single to double quote after "ye yours." page 25, added missing t's to "matt" at start of chapter xv. page 30, changed "ascent" to "assent." tom swift and his motor-cycle or fun and adventures on the road by victor appleton contents i. a narrow escape ii. tom overhears something iii. in a smash-up iv. tom and a motor-cycle v. mr. swift is alarmed vi. an interview in the dark vii. off on a spin viii. suspicious actions ix. a fruitless pursuit x. off to albany xi. a vindictive tramp xii. the men in the auto xiii. caught in a storm xiv. attacked from behind xv. a vain search. xvi. back home. xvii. mr. swift in despair xviii. happy harry again xix. tom on a hunt xx. eradicate saws wood xxi. eradicate gives a clue xxii. the strange mansion xxiii. tom is pursued xxiv. unexpected help xxv. the capture--good-by chapter i. a narrow escape "that's the way to do it! whoop her up, andy! shove the spark lever over, and turn on more gasolene! we'll make a record this trip." two lads in the tonneau of a touring car, that was whirling along a country road, leaned forward to speak to the one at the steering wheel. the latter was a red-haired youth, with somewhat squinty eyes, and not a very pleasant face, but his companions seemed to regard him with much favor. perhaps it was because they were riding in his automobile. "whoop her up, andy!" added the lad on the seat beside the driver. "this is immense!" "i rather thought you'd like it," remarked andy foger, as he turned the car to avoid a stone in the road. "i'll make things hum around shopton!" "you have made them hum already, andy," commented the lad beside him. "my ears are ringing. wow! there goes my cap!" as the boy spoke, the breeze, created by the speed at which the car was traveling, lifted off his cap, and sent it whirling to the rear. andy foger turned for an instant's glance behind. then he opened the throttle still wider, and exclaimed: "let it go, sam. we can get another. i want to see what time i can make to mansburg! i want to break a record, if i can." "look out, or you'll break something else!" cried a lad on the rear seat. "there's a fellow on a bicycle just ahead of us. take care, andy!" "let him look out for himself," retorted foger, as he bent lower over the steering wheel, for the car was now going at a terrific rate. the youth on the bicycle was riding slowly along, and did not see the approaching automobile until it was nearly upon him. then, with a mean grin, andy foger pressed the rubber bulb of the horn with sudden energy, sending out a series of alarming blasts. "it's tom swift!" cried sam snedecker. "look out, or you'll run him down!" "let him keep out of my way," retorted andy savagely. the youth on the wheel, with a sudden spurt of speed, tried to cross the highway. he did manage to do it, but by such a narrow margin that in very terror andy foger shut off the power, jammed down the brakes and steered to one side. so suddenly was he obliged to swerve over that the ponderous machine skidded and went into the ditch at the side of the road, where it brought up, tilting to one side. tom swift, his face rather pale from his narrow escape, leaped from his bicycle, and stood regarding the automobile. as for the occupants of that machine, from andy foger, the owner, to the three cronies who were riding with him, they all looked very much astonished. "are we--is it damaged any, andy?" asked sam snedecker. "i hope not," growled andy. "if my car's hurt it's tom swift's fault!" he leaped from his seat and made a hurried inspection of the machine. he found nothing the matter, though it was more from good luck than good management. then andy turned and looked savagely at tom swift. the latter, standing his wheel up against the fence, walked forward. "what do you mean by getting in the way like that?" demanded andy with a scowl. "don't you see that you nearly upset me?" "well, i like your nerve, andy foger!" cried tom. "what do you mean by nearly running me down? why didn't you sound your horn? you automobilists take too much for granted! you were going faster than the legal rate, anyhow!" "i was, eh?" sneered andy. "yes, you were, and you know it. i'm the one to make a kick, not you. you came pretty near hitting me. me getting in your way! i guess i've got some rights on the road!" "aw, go on!" growled andy, for he could think of nothing else to say. "bicycles are a back number, anyhow." "it isn't so very long ago that you had one," retorted tom. "first you fellows know, you'll be pulled in for speeding." "i guess we had better go slower, andy," advised sam in a low voice. "i don't want to be arrested." "leave this to me," retorted andy. "i'm running this tour. the next time you get in my way i'll run you down!" he threatened tom. "come on, fellows, we're late now, and can't make a record run, all on account of him," and andy got back into the car, followed by his cronies, who had hurriedly alighted after their thrilling stop. "if you try anything like this again you'll wish you hadn't," declared tom, and he watched the automobile party ride off. "oh, forget it!" snapped back andy, and he laughed, his companions joining. tom swift said nothing in reply. slowly he remounted his wheel and rode off, but his thoughts toward andy foger were not very pleasant ones. andy was the son of a wealthy man of the town, and his good fortune in the matter of money seemed to have spoiled him, for he was a bully and a coward. several times he and tom swift had clashed, for andy was overbearing. but this was the first time andy had shown such a vindictive spirit. "he thinks he can run over everything since he got his new auto," commented tom aloud as he rode on. "he'll have a smash-up some day, if he isn't careful. he's too fond of speeding. i wonder where he and his crowd are going?" musing over his narrow escape tom rode on, and was soon at his home, where he lived with his widowed father, barton swift, a wealthy inventor, and the latter's housekeeper, mrs. baggert. approaching a machine shop, one of several built near his house by mr. swift, in which he conducted experiments and constructed apparatus. tom was met by his parent. "what's the matter, tom?" asked mr. swift. "you look as if something had happened." "something very nearly did," answered the youth, and related his experience on the road. "humph," remarked the inventor; "your little pleasure-jaunt might have ended disastrously. i suppose andy and his chums are off on their trip. i remember mr. foger speaking to me about it the other day. he said andy and some companions were going on a tour, to be gone a week or more. well, i'm glad it was no worse. but have you anything special to do, tom?" "no; i was just riding for pleasure, and if you want me to do anything, i'm ready." "then i wish you'd take this letter to mansburg for me. i want it registered, and i don't wish to mail it in the shopton post-office. it's too important, for it's about a valuable invention." "the new turbine motor, dad?" "that's it. and on your way i wish you'd stop in merton's machine shop and get some bolts he's making for me." "i will. is that the letter?" and tom extended his hand for a missive his father held. "yes. please be careful of it. it's to my lawyers in washington regarding the final steps in getting a patent for the turbine. that's why i'm so particular about not wanting it mailed here. several times before i have posted letters here, only to have the information contained in them leak out before my attorneys received them. i do not want that to happen in this case. another thing; don't speak about my new invention in merton's shop when you stop for the bolts." "why, do you think he gave out information concerning your work?" "well, not exactly. he might not mean to, but he told me the other day that some strangers were making inquiries of him, about whether he ever did any work for me." "what did he tell them?" "he said that he occasionally did, but that most of my inventive work was done in my own shops, here. he wanted to know why the men were asking such questions, and one of them said they expected to open a machine shop soon, and wanted to ascertain if they might figure on getting any of my trade. but i don't believe that was their object." "what do you think it was?" "i don't know, exactly, but i was somewhat alarmed when i heard this from merton. so i am going to take no risks. that's why i send this letter to mansburg. don't lose it, and don't forget about the bolts. here is a blue-print of them, so you can see if they come up to the specifications." tom rode off on his wheel, and was soon spinning down the road. "i wonder if i'll meet andy foger and his cronies again?" he thought. "not very likely to, i guess, if they're off on a tour. well, i'm just as well satisfied. he and i always seem to get into trouble when we meet." tom was not destined to meet andy again that day, but the time was to come when the red-haired bully was to cause tom swift no little trouble, and get him into danger besides. so tom rode along, thinking over what his father had said to him about the letter he carried. mr. barton swift was a natural inventor. from a boy he had been interested in things mechanical, and one of his first efforts had been to arrange a system of pulleys, belts and gears so that the windmill would operate the churn in the old farmhouse where he was born. the fact that the mill went so fast that it broke the churn all to pieces did not discourage him, and he at once set to work, changing the gears. his father had to buy a new churn, but the young inventor made his plan work on the second trial, and thereafter his mother found butter-making easy. from then on barton swift lived in a world of inventions. people used to say he would never amount to anything, that inventors never did, but mr. swift proved them all wrong by amassing a considerable fortune out of his many patents. he grew up, married and had one son, tom. mrs. barton died when tom was three years old, and since then he had lived with his father and a succession of nurses and housekeepers. the last woman to have charge of the household was a mrs. baggert, a motherly widow, and she succeeded so well, and tom and his father formed such an attachment for her, that she was regarded as a fixture, and had now been in charge ten years. mr. swift and his son lived in a handsome house on the outskirts of the village of shopton, in new york state. the village was near a large body of water, which i shall call lake carlopa, and there tom and his father used to spend many pleasant days boating, for tom and the inventor were better chums than many boys are, and they were often seen together in a craft rowing about, or fishing. of course tom had some boy friends, but he went with his father more often than he did with them. though many of mr. swift's inventions paid him well, he was constantly seeking to perfect others. to this end he had built near his home several machine shops, with engines, lathes and apparatus for various kinds of work. tom, too, had the inventive fever in his veins, and had planned some useful implements and small machines. along the pleasant country roads on a fine day in april rode tom swift on his way to mansburg to register the letter. as he descended a little hill he saw, some distance away, but coming toward him, a great cloud of dust. "somebody must be driving a herd of cattle along the road," thought tom. "i hope they don't get in my way, or, rather, i hope i don't get in theirs. guess i'd better keep to one side, yet there isn't any too much room." the dust-cloud came nearer. it was so dense that whoever or whatever was making it could not be distinguished. "must be a lot of cattle in that bunch," mused the young inventor, "but i shouldn't think they'd trot them so on a warm day like this. maybe they're stampeded. if they are i've got to look out." this idea caused him some alarm. he tried to peer through the dust-cloud, but could not. nearer and nearer it came. tom kept on, taking care to get as far to the side of the road as he could. then from the midst of the enveloping mass came the sound of a steady "chug-chug." "it's a motor-cycle!" exclaimed tom. "he must have his muffler wide open, and that's kicking up as much dust as the wheels do. whew! but whoever's on it will look like a clay image at the end of the line!" now that he knew it was a fellow-cyclist who was raising such a disturbance, tom turned more toward the middle of the road. as yet he had not had a sight of the rider, but the explosions of the motor were louder. suddenly, when the first advancing particles of dust reached him, almost making him sneeze, tom caught sight of the rider. he was a man of middle age, and he was clinging to the handle-bars of the machine. the motor was going at full speed. tom quickly turned to one side, to avoid the worst of the dust. the motor-cyclist glanced at the youth, but this act nearly proved disastrous for him. he took his eyes from the road ahead for just a moment, and he did not see a large stone directly in his path. his front wheel hit it, and the heavy machine, which he could not control very well, skidded over toward the lad on the bicycle. the motor-cyclist bounced up in the air from the saddle, and nearly lost his hold on the handle-bars. "look out!" cried tom. "you'll smash into me!" "i'm--i'm--try--ing--not--to!" were the words that were rattled out of the middle-aged man. tom gave his wheel a desperate twist to get out of the way. the motor-cyclist tried to do the same, but the machine he was on appeared to want matters its own way. he came straight for tom, and a disastrous collision might have resulted had not another stone been in the way. the front wheel hit this, and was swerved to one side. the motor-cycle flashed past tom, just grazing his wheel, and then was lost to sight beyond in a cloud of dust that seemed to follow it like a halo. "why don't you learn to ride before you come out on the road!" cried tom somewhat angrily. like an echo from the dust-cloud came floating back these words: "i'm--try--ing--to!" then the sound of the explosions became fainter. "well, he's got lots to learn yet!" exclaimed tom. "that's twice to-day i've nearly been run down. i expect i'd better look out for the third time. they say that's always fatal," and the lad leaped from his wheel. "wonder if he bent any of my spokes?" the young inventor continued as he inspected his bicycle. chapter ii. tom overhears something "everything seems to be all right," tom remarked, "but another inch or so and he'd have crashed into me. i wonder who he was? i wish i had a machine like that. i could make better time than i can on my bicycle. perhaps i'll get one some day. well, i might as well ride on." tom was soon at mansburg, and going to the post-office handed in the letter for registry. bearing in mind his father's words, he looked about to see if there were any suspicious characters, but the only person he noticed was a well-dressed man, with a black mustache, who seemed to be intently studying the schedule of the arrival and departure of the mails. "do you want the receipt for the registered letter sent to you here or at shopton?" asked the clerk of tom. "come to think of it, though, it will have to come here, and you can call for it. i'll have it returned to mr. barton swift, care of general delivery, and you can get it the next time you are over," for the clerk knew tom. "that will do," answered our hero, and as he turned away from the window he saw that the man who had been inquiring about the mails was regarding him curiously. tom thought nothing of it at the time, but there came an occasion when he wished that he had taken more careful note of the well-dressed individual. as the youth passed out of the outer door he saw the man walk over to the registry window. "he seems to have considerable mail business," thought tom, and then the matter passed from his mind as he mounted his wheel and hurried to the machine shop. "say, i'm awfully sorry," announced mr. merton when tom said he had come for the bolts, "but they're not quite done. they need polishing. i know i promised them to your father to-day, and he can have them, but he was very particular about the polish, and as one of my best workers was taken sick, i'm a little behind." "how long will it take to polish them?" asked tom. "oh, about an hour. in fact, a man is working on them now. if you could call this afternoon they'll be ready. can you?" "i s'pose i've got to," replied tom good-naturedly. "guess i'll have to stay in mansburg for dinner. i can't get back to shopton in time now." "i'll be sure to have them for you after dinner," promised mr. merton. "now, there's a matter i want to speak to you about, tom. has your father any idea of giving the work he has been turning over to me to some other firm?" "not that i know of. why?" and the lad showed his wonder. "well, i'll tell you why. some time ago there was a stranger in here, asking about your father's work. i told mr. swift of it at the time. the stranger said then that he and some others were thinking of opening a machine shop, and he wanted to find out whether they would be likely to get any jobs from your father. i told the man i knew nothing about mr. swift's business, and he went away. i didn't hear any more of it, though of course i didn't want to lose your father's trade. now a funny thing happened. only this morning the same man was back here, and he was making particular inquiries about your father's private machine shops." "he was?" exclaimed tom excitedly. "yes. he wanted to know where they were located, how they were laid out, and what sort of work he did in them." "what did you tell him?" "nothing at all. i suspected something, and i said the best way for him to find out would be to go and see your father. wasn't that right?" "sure. dad doesn't want his business known any more than he can help. what do you suppose they wanted?" "well, the man talked as though he and his partners would like to buy your father's shops." "i don't believe he'd sell. he has them arranged just for his own use in making patents, and i'm sure he would not dispose of them." "well, that's what i thought, but i didn't tell the man so. i judged it would be best for him to find out for himself." "what was the man's name?" "he didn't tell me, and i didn't ask him." "how did he look?" "well, he was well dressed, wore kid gloves and all that, and he had a little black mustache." tom started, and mr. merton noticed it. "do you know him?" he asked. "no," replied tom, "but i saw--" then he stopped. he recalled the man he had seen in the post-office. he answered this description, but it was too vague to be certain. "did you say you'd seen him?" asked mr. merton, regarding tom curiously. "no--yes--that is--well, i'll tell my father about it," stammered tom, who concluded that it would be best to say nothing of his suspicions. "i'll be back right after dinner, mr. merton. please have the bolts ready for me, if you can." "i will. is your father going to use them in a new machine?" "yes; dad is always making new machines," answered the youth, as the most polite way of not giving the proprietor of the shop any information. "i'll be back right after dinner," he called as he went out to get on his wheel. tom was much puzzled. he felt certain that the man in the post-office and the one who had questioned mr. merton were the same. "there is something going on, that dad should know about," reflected tom. "i must tell him. i don't believe it will be wise to send any more of his patent work over to merton. we must do it in the shops at home, and dad and i will have to keep our eyes open. there may be spies about seeking to discover something about his new turbine motor. i'll hurry back with those bolts and tell dad. but first i must get lunch. i'll go to the restaurant and have a good feed while i'm at it." tom had plenty of spending money, some of which came from a small patent he had marketed himself. he left his wheel outside the restaurant, first taking the precaution to chain the wheels, and then went inside. tom was hungry and ordered a good meal. he was about half way through it when some one called his name. "hello, ned!" he answered, looking up to see a youth about his own age. "where did you blow in from?" "oh, i came over from shopton this morning," replied ned newton, taking a seat at the table with tom. the two lads were chums, and in their younger days had often gone fishing, swimming and hunting together. now ned worked in the shopton bank, and tom was so busy helping his father, so they did not see each other so often. "on business or pleasure?" asked tom, putting some more sugar in his coffee. "business. i had to bring some papers over from our bank to the first national here. but what about you?" "oh, i came on dad's account." "invented anything new?" asked ned as he gave his order to the waitress. "no, nothing since the egg-beater i was telling you about. but i'm working on some things." "why don't you invent an automobile or an airship?" "maybe i will some day, but, speaking of autos, did you see the one andy foger has?" "yes; it's a beaut! have you seen it?" "altogether at too close range. he nearly ran over me this morning," and the young inventor related the occurrence. "oh, andy always was too fresh," commented ned; "and since his father let him get the touring car i suppose he'll be worse than ever." "well, if he tries to run me down again he'll get into trouble," declared tom, calling for a second cup of coffee. the two chums began conversing on more congenial topics, and ned was telling of a new camera he had, when, from a table directly behind him, tom heard some one say in rather loud tones: "the plant is located in shopton, all right, and the buildings are near swift's house." tom started, and listened more intently. "that will make it more difficult," one man answered. "but if the invention is as valuable as--" "hush!" came a caution from another of the party. "this is too public a place to discuss the matter. wait until we get out. one of us will have to see swift, of course, and if he proves stubborn--" "i guess you'd better hush yourself," retorted the man who had first spoken, and then the voices subsided. but tom swift had overheard something which made him vaguely afraid. he started so at the sound of his father's name that he knocked a fork from the table. "what's the matter; getting nervous?" asked ned with a laugh. "i guess so," replied tom, and when he stooped to pick the fork up, not waiting for the girl who was serving at his table, he stole a look at the strangers who had just entered. he was startled to note that one of the men was the same he had seen in the post-office--the man who answered the description of the one who had been inquiring of mr. merton about the swift shops. "i'm going to keep my ears open," thought tom as he went on eating his dinner. chapter iii. in a smash-up though the young inventor listened intently, in an endeavor to hear the conversation of the men at the table behind him, all he could catch was an indistinct murmur. the strangers appeared to have heeded the caution of one of their number and were speaking in low tones. tom and ned finished their meal, and started to leave the restaurant. as mr. swift's son passed the table where the men sat they looked up quickly at him. two of them gave tom but a passing glance, but one--he whom the young inventor had noticed in the post-office--stared long and intently. "i think he will know me the next time he sees me," thought tom, and he boldly returned the glance of the stranger. the bolts were ready when the inventor's son called at the machine shop a second time, and making a package of them tom fastened it to the saddle of his bicycle. he started for home at a fast pace, and was just turning from a cross road into the main highway when he saw ahead of him a woman driving a light wagon. as the sun flashed on tom's shining wheel the horse gave a sudden leap, swerved to one side, and then bolted down the dusty stretch, the woman screaming at the top of her voice. "a runaway!" cried tom; "and partly my fault, too!" waiting not an instant the lad bent over his handle-bars and pedaled with all his force. his bicycle seemed fairly to leap forward after the galloping horse. "sit still! don't jump out! don't jump!" yelled the young inventor. "i'll try to catch him!" for the woman was standing up in front of the seat and leaning forward, as if about to leap from the wagon. "she's lost her head," thought tom. "no wonder! that's a skittish horse." faster and faster he rode, bending all his energies to overtake the animal. the wagon was swaying from side to side, and more than once the woman just saved herself from being thrown out by grasping the edge of the seat. she found that her standing position was a dangerous one and crouched on the bottom of the swaying vehicle. "that's better!" shouted tom, but it is doubtful if she heard him, for the rattling of the wagon and the hoofbeats of the horse drowned all other sounds. "sit still!" he shouted. "i'll stop the horse for you!" trying to imagine himself in a desperate race, in order to excite himself to greater speed, tom continued on. he was now even with the tail-board of the wagon, and slowly creeping up. the woman was all huddled up in a lump. "grab the reins! grab the reins!" shouted tom. "saw on the bit! that will stop him!" the occupant of the wagon turned to look at the lad. tom saw that she was a handsome young lady. "grab the reins!" he cried again. "pull hard!" "i--i can't!" she answered frightenedly. "they have dropped down! oh, do please stop the horse! i'm so--so frightened!" "i'll stop him!" declared the youth firmly, and he set his teeth hard. then he saw the reason the fair driver could not grasp the lines. they had slipped over the dashboard and were trailing on the ground. the horse was slacking speed a bit now, for the pace was telling on his wind. tom saw his opportunity, and with a sudden burst of energy was at the animal's head. steering his wheel with one hand, with the other the lad made a grab for the reins near the bit. the horse swerved frightenedly to one side, but tom swung in the same direction. he grasped the leather and then, with a kick, he freed himself from the bicycle, giving it a shove to one side. he was now clinging to the reins with both hands, and, being a muscular lad and no lightweight, his bulk told. "sit--still!" panted our hero to the young woman, who had arisen to the seat. "i'll have him stopped in half a minute now!" it was in less time than that, for the horse, finding it impossible to shake off the grip of tom, began to slow from a gallop to a trot, then to a canter, and finally to a slow walk. a moment later the horse had stopped, breathing heavily from his run. "there, there, now!" spoke tom soothingly. "you're all right, old fellow. i hope you're not hurt"--this to the young lady--and tom made a motion to raise his cap, only to find that it had blown off. "oh, no--no; i'm more frightened than hurt." "it was all my fault," declared the young inventor. "i should not have swung into the road so suddenly. my bicycle alarmed your horse." "oh, i fancy dobbin is easily disturbed," admitted the fair driver. "i can't thank you enough for stopping him. you saved me from a bad accident." "it was the least i could do. are you all right now?" and he handed up the dangling reins. "i think dobbin, as you call him, has had enough of running," went on tom, for the horse was now quiet. "i hope so. yes, i am all right. i trust your wheel is not damaged. if it is, my father, mr. amos nestor, of mansburg, will gladly pay for its repair." this reminded the young inventor of his bicycle, and making sure that the horse would not start up again, he went to where his wheel and his cap lay. he found that the only damage to the bicycle was a few bent spokes, and, straightening them and having again apologized to the young woman, receiving in turn her pardon and thanks, and learning that her name was mary nestor, tom once more resumed his trip. the wagon followed him at a distance, the horse evincing no desire now to get out of a slow amble. "well, things are certainly happening to me to-day," mused tom as he pedaled on. "that might have been a serious runaway if there'd been anything in the road." tom did not stop to think that he had been mainly instrumental in preventing a bad accident, as he had been the innocent cause of starting the runaway, but tom was ever a modest lad. his arms were wrenched from jerking on the bridle, but he did not mind that much, and bent over the handle-bars to make up for lost time. our hero was within a short distance of his house and was coasting easily along when, just ahead of him, he saw a cloud of dust, very similar to the one that had, some time before, concealed the inexperienced motor-cyclist. "i wonder if that's him again?" thought tom. "if it is i'm going to hang back until i see which way he's headed. no use running any more risks." almost at that moment a puff of wind blew some of the dust to one side. tom had a glimpse of the man on the puffing machine. "it's the same chap!" he exclaimed aloud; "and he's going the same way i am. well, i'll not try to catch up to him. i wonder what he's been doing all this while, that he hasn't gotten any farther than this? either he's been riding back and forth, or else he's been resting. my, but he certainly is scooting along!" the wind carried to tom the sound of the explosions of the motor, and he could see the man clinging tightly to the handle-bars. the rider was almost in front of tom's house now, when, with a suddenness that caused the lad to utter an exclamation of alarm, the stranger turned his machine right toward a big oak tree. "what's he up to?" cried tom excitedly. "does he think he can climb that, or is he giving an exhibition by showing how close he can come and not hit it?" a moment later the motor-cyclist struck the tree a glancing blow. the man went flying over the handle-bars, the machine was shunted to the ditch along the road, and falling over on one side the motor raced furiously. the rider lay in a heap at the foot of the tree. "my, that was a smash!" cried tom. "he must be killed!" and bending forward, he raced toward the scene of the accident. chapter iv. tom and a motor-cycle when tom reached the prostrate figure on the grass at the foot of the old oak tree, the youth bent quickly over the man. there was an ugly cut on his head, and blood was flowing from it. but tom quickly noticed that the stranger was breathing, though not very strongly. "well, he's not dead--just yet!" exclaimed the youth with a sigh of relief. "but i guess he's pretty badly hurt. i must get help--no, i'll take him into our house. it's not far. i'll call dad." leaning his wheel against the tree tom started for his home, about three hundred feet away, and then he noticed that the stranger's motor-cycle was running at full speed on the ground. "guess i'd better shut off the power!" he exclaimed. "no use letting the machine be ruined." tom had a natural love for machinery, and it hurt him almost as much to see a piece of fine apparatus abused as it did to see an animal mistreated. it was the work of a moment to shut off the gasolene and spark, and then the youth raced on toward his house. "where's dad?" he called to mrs. baggert, who was washing the dishes. "out in one of the shops," replied the housekeeper. "why, tom," she went on hurriedly as she saw how excited he was, "whatever has happened?" "man hurt--out in front--motor-cycle smash--i'm going to bring him in here--get some things ready--i'll find dad!" "bless and save us!" cried mrs. baggert. "whatever are we coming to? who's hurt? how did it happen? is he dead?" "haven't time to talk now!" answered tom, rushing from the house. "dad and i will bring him in here." tom found his father in one of the three small machine shops on the grounds about the swift home. the youth hurriedly told what had happened. "of course we'll bring him right in here!" assented mr. swift, putting aside the work upon which he was engaged. "did you tell mrs. baggert?" "yes, and she's all excited." "well, she can't help it, being a woman, i suppose. but we'll manage. do you know the man?" "never saw him before to-day, when he tried to run me down. guess he doesn't know much about motor-cycles. but come on, dad. he may bleed to death." father and son hurried to where the stranger lay. as they bent over him he opened his eyes and asked faintly: "where am i? what happened?" "you're all right--in good hands," said mr. swift. "are you much hurt?" "not much--mostly stunned, i guess. what happened?" he repeated. "you and your motor-cycle tried to climb a tree," remarked tom with grim humor. "oh, yes, i remember now. i couldn't seem to steer out of the way. and i couldn't shut off the power in time. is the motor-cycle much damaged?" "the front wheel is," reported tom, after an inspection, "and there are some other breaks, but i guess--" "i wish it was all smashed!" exclaimed the man vigorously. "i never want to see it again!" "why, don't you like it?" asked tom eagerly. "no, and i never will," the man spoke faintly but determinedly. "never mind now," interposed mr. swift. "don't excite yourself. my son and i will take you to our house and send for a doctor." "i'll bring the motor-cycle, after we've carried you in," added tom. "don't worry about the machine. i never want to see it again!" went on the man, rising to a sitting position. "it nearly killed me twice to-day. i'll never ride again." "you'll feel differently after the doctor fixes you up," said mr. swift with a smile. "doctor! i don't need a doctor," cried the stranger. "i am only bruised and shaken up." "you have a bad cut on your head," said tom. "it isn't very deep," went on the injured man, placing his fingers on it. "fortunately i struck the tree a glancing blow. if you will allow me to rest in your house a little while and give me some plaster for the cut i shall be all right again." "can you walk, or shall we carry you?" asked tom's father. "oh, i can walk, if you'll support me a little." and the stranger proved that he could do this by getting to his feet and taking a few steps. mr. swift and his son took hold of his arms and led him to the house. there he was placed on a lounge and given some simple restoratives by mrs. baggert, who, when she found the accident was not serious, recovered her composure. "i must have been unconscious for a few minutes," went on the man. "you were," explained tom. "when i got up to you i thought you were dead, until i saw you breathe. then i shut off the power of your machine and ran in for dad. i've got the motor-cycle outside. you can't ride it for some time, i'm afraid, mr.--er--" and tom stopped in some confusion, for he realized that he did not know the man's name. "i beg your pardon for not introducing myself before," went on the stranger. "i'm wakefield damon, of waterfield. but don't worry about me riding that machine again. i never shall." "oh, perhaps--" began mr. swift. "no, i never shall," went on mr. damon positively. "my doctor told me to get it, as he thought riding around the country would benefit my health. i shall tell him his prescription nearly killed me." "and me too," added tom with a laugh. "how--why--are you the young man i nearly ran down this morning?" asked mr. damon, suddenly sitting up and looking at the youth. "i am," answered our hero. "bless my soul! so you are!" cried mr. damon. "i was wondering who it could be. it's quite a coincidence. but i was in such a cloud of dust i couldn't make out who it was." "you had your muffler open, and that made considerable dust," explained tom. "was that it? bless my existence! i thought something was wrong, but i couldn't tell what. i went over all the instructions in the book and those the agent told me, but i couldn't think of the right one. i tried all sorts of things to make less dust, but i couldn't. then, bless my eyelashes, if the machine didn't stop just after i nearly ran into you. i tinkered over it for an hour or more before i could get it to going again. then i ran into the tree. my doctor told me the machine would do my liver good, but, bless my happiness, i'd as soon be without a liver entirely as to do what i've done to-day. i am done with motor-cycling!" a hopeful look came over tom's face, but he said nothing, that is, not just then. in a little while mr. damon felt so much better that he said he would start for home. "i'm afraid you'll have to leave your machine here," said tom. "you can send for it any time you want to," added mr. swift. "bless my hatband!" exclaimed mr. damon, who appeared to be very fond of blessing his various organs and his articles of wearing apparel. "bless my hatband! i never want to see it again! if you will be so kind as to keep it for me, i will send a junk man after it. i will never spend anything on having it repaired. i am done with that form of exercise--liver or no liver--doctor or no doctor." he appeared very determined. tom quickly made up his mind. mr. damon had gone to the bathroom to get rid of some of the mud on his hands and face. "father," said tom earnestly, "may i buy that machine off him?" "what? buy a broken motor-cycle?" "i can easily fix it. it is a fine make, and in good condition. i can repair it. i've wanted a motor-cycle for some time, and here's a chance to get a good one cheap." "you don't need to do that," replied mr. swift. "you have money enough to buy a new one if you want it. i never knew you cared for them." "i didn't, until lately. but i'd rather buy this one and fix it up than get a new one. besides, i have an idea for a new kind of transmission, and perhaps i can work it out on this machine." "oh, well, if you want it for experimental purposes, i suppose it will be as good as any. go ahead, get it if you wish, but don't give too much for it." "i'll not. i fancy i can get it cheap." mr. damon returned to the living-room, where he had first been carried. "i cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me," he said. "i might have lain there for hours. bless my very existence! i have had a very narrow escape. hereafter when i see anyone on a motor-cycle i shall turn my head away. the memory will be too painful," and he touched the plaster that covered a cut on his head. "mr. damon," said tom quickly, "will you sell me that motor-cycle?" "bless my finger rings! sell you that mass of junk?" "it isn't all junk," went on the young inventor. "i can easily fix it; though, of course," he added prudently, "it will cost something. how much would you want for it?" "well," replied mr. damon, "i paid two hundred and fifty dollars last week. i have ridden a hundred miles on it. that is at the rate of two dollars and a half a mile--pretty expensive riding. but if you are in earnest i will let you have the machine for fifty dollars, and then i fear that i will be taking advantage of you." "i'll give you fifty dollars," said tom quickly, and mr. damon exclaimed: "bless my liver--that is, if i have one. do you mean it?" tom nodded. "i'll fetch you the money right away," he said, starting for his room. he got the cash from a small safe he had arranged, which was fitted up with an ingenious burglar alarm, and was on his way downstairs when he heard his father call out: "here! what do you want? go away from that shop! no one is allowed there!" and looking from an upper window, tom saw his father running toward a stranger, who was just stepping inside the shop where mr. swift was constructing his turbine motor. tom started as he saw that the stranger was the same black-mustached man whom he had noticed in the post-office, and, later, in the restaurant at mansburg. chapter v. mr. swift is alarmed stuffing the money which he intended to give to mr. damon in his pocket, tom ran downstairs. as he passed through the living-room, intending to see what the disturbance was about, and, if necessary, aid his father, the owner of the broken motor-cycle exclaimed: "what's the matter? what has happened? bless my coat-tails, but is anything wrong?" "i don't know," answered tom. "there is a stranger about the shop, and my father never allows that. i'll be back in a minute." "take your time," advised the somewhat eccentric mr. damon. "i find my legs are a bit weaker than i suspected, and i will be glad to rest a while longer. bless my shoelaces, but don't hurry!" tom went into the rear yard, where the shops, in a small cluster of buildings, were located. he saw his father confronting the man with the black mustache, and mr. swift was saying: "what do you want? i allow no people to come in here unless i or my son invites them. did you wish to see me?" "are you mr. barton swift?" asked the man. "yes, that is my name." "the inventor of the swift safety lamp, and the turbine motor?" at the mention of the motor mr. swift started. "i am the inventor of the safety lamp you mention," he said stiffly, "but i must decline to talk about the motor. may i ask where you obtained your information concerning it?" "why, i am not at liberty to tell," went on the man. "i called to see if we could negotiate with you for the sale of it. parties whom i represent--" at that moment tom plucked his father by the sleeve. "dad," whispered the youth, "i saw him in mansburg. i think he is one of several who have been inquiring in mr. merton's shop about you and your patents. i wouldn't have anything to do with him until i found out more about him." "is that so?" asked mr. swift quickly. then, turning to the stranger, he said: "my son tells me--" but mr. swift got no further, for at that moment the stranger caught sight of tom, whom he had not noticed before. "ha!" exclaimed the man. "i have forgotten something--an important engagement--will be back directly--will see you again, mr. swift--excuse the trouble i have put you to--i am in a great hurry," and before father or son could stop him, had they any desire to, the man turned and walked quickly from the yard. mr. swift stood staring at him, and so did tom. then the inventor asked: "do you know that man? what about him, tom? why did he leave so hurriedly?" "i don't know his name," replied tom, "but i am suspicious regarding him, and i think he left because he suddenly recognized me." thereupon he told his father of seeing the man in the post-office, and hearing the talk of the same individual and two companions in the restaurant. "and so you think they are up to some mischief, tom?" asked the parent when the son had finished. "well, i wouldn't go quite as far as that, but i think they are interested in your patents, and you ought to know whether you want them to be, or not." "i most certainly do not--especially in the turbine motor. that is my latest invention, and, i think, will prove very valuable. but, though i have not mentioned it before, i expect to have trouble with it. soon after i perfected it, with the exception of some minor details, i received word from a syndicate of rich men that i was infringing on a motor, the patent of which they controlled." "this surprised me for two reasons. one was because i did not know that any one knew i had invented the motor. i had kept the matter secret, and i am at a loss to know how it leaked out. to prevent any further information concerning my plans becoming public, i sent you to mansburg to-day. but it seems that the precaution was of little avail. another matter of surprise was the information that i was infringing on the patent of some one else. i had a very careful examination made, and i found that the syndicate of rich men was wrong. i was not infringing. in fact, though the motor they have is somewhat like mine, there is one big difference--theirs does not work, while mine does. their patents are worthless." "then what do you think is their object?" "i think they want to get control of my invention of the turbine motor, tom. that is what has been worrying me lately. i know these men to be unscrupulous, and, with plenty of money, they may make trouble for me." "but can't you fight them in the courts?" "yes, i could do that. it is not as if i was a poor man, but i do not like lawsuits. i want to live quietly and invent things. i dislike litigation. however, if they force it on me i will fight!" exclaimed mr. swift determinedly. "do you think this man was one of the crowd of financiers?" asked tom. "it would be hard to say. i did not like his actions, and the fact that he sneaked in here, as if he was trying to get possession of some of my models or plans, makes it suspicious." "it certainly does," agreed tom. "now, if we only knew his name we could--" he suddenly paused in his remark and sprang forward. he picked up an envelope that had dropped where the stranger had been standing. "the man lost this from his pocket, dad," said tom eagerly. "it's a telegram. shall we look at it?" "i think we will be justified in protecting ourselves. is the envelope open?" "yes." "then read the telegram." tom drew out a folded yellow slip of paper. it was a short message. he read: "'anson morse, mansburg. see swift to-day. make offer. if not accepted do the best you can. spare no effort. don't give plans away.'" "is that all?" asked mr. swift. "all except the signature." "who is the telegram signed by?" "by smeak & katch," answered tom. "those rascally lawyers!" exclaimed his father. "i was beginning to suspect this. that is the firm which represents the syndicate of wealthy men who are trying to get my turbine motor patents away from me. tom, we must be on our guard! they will wage a fierce fight against me, for they have sunk many thousands of dollars in a worthless machine, and are desperate." "we'll fight 'em!" cried tom. "you and i, dad! we'll show 'em that the firm of swift & son is swift by name and swift by nature!" "good!" exclaimed the inventor. "i'm glad you feel that way about it, tom. but we are going to have no easy task. those men are rich and unscrupulous. we shall have to be on guard constantly. let me have that telegram. it may come in useful. now i must send word to reid & crawford, my attorneys in washington, to be on the lookout. matters are coming to a curious pass." as mr. swift and his son started for the house, they met mr. damon coming toward them. "bless my very existence!" cried the eccentric man. "i was beginning to fear something had happened to you. i am glad that you are all right. i heard voices, and i imagined--" "it's all right," mr. swift reassured him. "there was a stranger about my shop, and i never allow that. do you feel well enough to go? if not we shall be glad to have you remain with us. we have plenty of room." "oh, thank you very much, but i must be going. i feel much better. bless my gaiters, but i never will trust myself in even an automobile again! i will renounce gasolene from now on." "that reminds me," spoke tom. "i have the money for the motor-cycle," and he drew out the bills. "you are sure you will not regret your bargain, mr. damon? the machine is new, and needs only slight repairs. fifty dollars is--" "tut, tut, young man! i feel as if i was getting the best of you. bless my handkerchief! i hope you have no bad luck with it." "i'll try and be careful," promised tom with a smile as he handed over the money. "i am going to gear it differently and put some improvements on it. then i will use it instead of my bicycle." "it would have to be very much improved before i trusted myself on it again," declared mr. damon. "well, i appreciate what you have done for me, and if at any time i can reciprocate the favor, i will only be too glad to do so. bless my soul, though, i hope i don't have to rescue you from trying to climb a tree," and with a laugh, which showed that he had fully recovered from his mishap, he shook hands with father and son and left. "a very nice man, tom," commented mr. swift. "somewhat odd and out of the ordinary, but a very fine character, for all that." "that's what i say," added the son. "now, dad, you'll see me scooting around the country on a motor-cycle. i've always wanted one, and now i have a bargain." "do you think you can repair it?" "of course, dad. i've done more difficult things than that. i'm going to take it apart now, and see what it needs." "before you do that, tom, i wish you would take a telegram to town for me. i must wire my lawyers at once." "dad looks worried," thought tom as he wheeled the broken motor-cycle into a machine shop, where he did most of his work. "well, i don't blame him. but we'll get the best of those scoundrels yet!" chapter vi. an interview in the dark while mr. swift was writing the message he wished his son to take to the village, the young mechanic inspected the motor-cycle he had purchased. tom found that a few repairs would suffice to put it in good shape, though an entire new front wheel would be needed. the motor had not been damaged, as he ascertained by a test. tom rode into town on his bicycle, and as he hurried along he noticed in the west a bank of ugly-looking clouds that indicated a shower. "i'm in for a wetting before i get back," he mused, and he increased his speed, reaching the telegraph office shortly before seven o'clock. "think this storm will hold off until i get home?" asked tom. "i'm afraid not," answered the agent. "you'd better get a hustle on." tom sprinted off. it was getting dark rapidly, and when he was about a mile from home he felt several warm drops on his face. "here it comes!" exclaimed the youth. "now for a little more speed!" tom pressed harder on the pedals, too hard, in fact, for an instant later something snapped, and the next he knew he was flying over the handle-bars of the bicycle. at the same time there was a metallic, clinking sound. "chain's busted!" exclaimed the lad as he picked himself up out of the dust. "well, wouldn't that jar you!" and he walked back to where, in the dusk, he could dimly discern his wheel. the chain had come off the two sprockets and was lying to one side. tom picked it up and ascertained by close observation that the screw and nut holding the two joining links together was lost. "nice pickle!" he murmured. "how am i going to find it in all this dust and darkness?" he asked himself disgustedly. "i'll carry an extra screw next time. no, i won't, either. i'll ride my motor-cycle next time. well, i may as well give a look around. i hate to walk, if i can fix it and ride." tom had not spent more than two minutes looking about the dusty road, with the aid of matches, for the screw, when the rain suddenly began falling in a hard shower. "guess there's no use lingering here any longer," he remarked. "i'll push the wheel and run for home." he started down the road in the storm and darkness. the highway soon became a long puddle of mud, through which he splashed, finding it more and more difficult every minute to push the bicycle in the thick, sticky clay. above the roar of the wind and the swishing of the rain he heard another sound. it was a steady "puff-puff," and then the darkness was cut by a glare of light. "an automobile," said tom aloud. "guess i'd better get out of the way." he turned to one side, but the auto, instead of passing him when it got to the place where he was, made a sudden stop. "want a ride?" asked the chauffeur, peering out from the side curtains which somewhat protected him from the storm. tom saw that the car was a large, touring one. "can i give you a lift?" went on the driver. "well, i've got my bicycle with me," explained the young inventor. "my chain's broken, and i've got a mile to go." "jump up in back," invited the man. "leave your wheel here; i guess it will be safe." "oh, i couldn't do that," said tom. "i don't mind walking. i'm wet through now, and i can't get much wetter. i'm much obliged, though." "well, i'm sorry, but i can hardly take you and the bicycle, too," continued the chauffeur. "certainly not," added a voice from the tonneau of the car. "we can't have a muddy bicycle in here. who is that person, simpson?" "it's a young man," answered the driver. "is he acquainted around here?" went on the voice from the rear of the car. "ask him if he is acquainted around here, simpson." tom was wondering where he had heard that voice before. he had a vague notion that it was familiar. "are you acquainted around here?" obediently asked the man at the wheel. "i live here," replied tom. "ask him if he knows any one named swift?" continued the voice from the tonneau, and the driver started to repeat it. "i heard him," interrupted tom. "yes, i know a mr. swift;" but tom, with a sudden resolve, and one he could hardly explain, decided that, for the present, he would not betray his own identity. "ask him if mr. swift is an inventor." once more the unseen person spoke in the voice tom was trying vainly to recall. "yes, he is an inventor," was the youth's answer. "do you know much about him? what are his habits? does he live near his workshops? does he keep many servants? does he--" the unseen questioner suddenly parted the side curtains and peered out at tom, who stood in the muddy road, close to the automobile. at that moment there came a bright flash of lightning, illuminating not only tom's face, but that of his questioner as well. and at the sight tom started, no less than did the man. for tom had recognized him as one of the three mysterious persons in the restaurant, and as for the man, he had also recognized tom. "ah--er--um--is--why, it's you, isn't it?" cried the questioner, and he thrust his head farther out from between the curtains. "my, what a storm!" he exclaimed as the rain increased. "so you know mr. swift, eh? i saw you to-day in mansburg, i think. i have a good memory for faces. do you work for mr. swift? if you do i may be able to--" "i'm tom swift, son of mr. barton swift," said tom as quietly as he could. "tom swift! his son!" cried the man, and he seemed much agitated. "why, i thought--that is, morse said--simpson, hurry back to mansburg!" and with that, taking no more notice of tom, the man in the auto hastily drew the curtains together. the chauffeur threw in the gears and swung the ponderous machine to one side. the road was wide, and he made the turn skilfully. a moment later the car was speeding back the way it had come, leaving tom standing on the highway, alone in the mud and darkness, with the rain pouring down in torrents. chapter vii. off on a spin tom's first impulse was to run after the automobile, the red tail-light of which glowed through the blackness like a ruby eye. then he realized that it was going from him at such a swift pace that it would be impossible to get near it, even if his bicycle was in working order. "but if i had my motor-cycle i'd catch up to them," he murmured. "as it is, i must hurry home and tell dad. this is another link in the queer chain that seems to be winding around us. i wonder who that man was, and what he wanted by asking so many personal questions about dad?" trundling his wheel before him, with the chain dangling from the handle-bar, tom splashed on through the mud and rain. it was a lonesome, weary walk, tired as he was with the happenings of the day, and the young inventor breathed a sigh of thankfulness as the lights of his home shone out in the mist of the storm. as he tramped up the steps of the side porch, his wheel bumping along ahead of him, a door was thrown open. "why, it's tom!" exclaimed mrs. baggert. "whatever happened to you?" and she hurried forward with kindly solicitude, for the housekeeper was almost a second mother to the youth. "chain broke," answered the lad laconically. "where's dad?" "out in the shop, working at his latest invention, i expect. but are you hurt?" "oh, no. i fell easily. the mud was like a feather-bed, you know, except that it isn't so good for the clothes," and the young inventor looked down at his splashed and bedraggled garments. mr. swift was very much surprised when tom told him of the happening on the road, and related the conversation and the subsequent alarm of the man on learning tom's identity. "who do you suppose he could have been?" asked tom, when he had finished. "i am pretty certain he was one of that crowd of financiers of whom anson morse seems to be a representative," said mr. swift. "are you sure the man was one of those you saw in the restaurant?" "positive. i had a good look at him both times. do you think he imagined he could come here and get possession of some of your secrets?" "i hardly know what to think, tom. but we will take every precaution. we will set the burglar alarm wires, which i have neglected for some time, as i fancied everything would be secure here. then i will take my plans and the model of the turbine motor into the house. i'll run no chances to-night." mr. swift, who was adjusting some of the new bolts that tom had brought home that day; began to gather up his tools and material. "i'll help you, dad," said tom, and he began connecting the burglar alarm wires, there being an elaborate system of them about the house, shops and grounds. neither tom nor his father slept well that night. several times one or the other of them arose, thinking they heard unusual noises, but it was only some disturbance caused by the storm, and morning arrived without anything unusual having taken place. the rain still continued, and tom, looking from his window and seeing the downpour, remarked: "i'm glad of it!" "why?" asked his father, who was in the next room. "because i'll have a good excuse for staying in and working on my motor-cycle." "but you must do some studying," declared mr. swift. "i will hear you in mathematics right after breakfast." "all right, dad. i guess you'll find i have my lessons." tom had graduated with honors from a local academy, and when it came to a question of going further in his studies, he had elected to continue with his father for a tutor, instead of going to college. mr. swift was a very learned man, and this arrangement was satisfactory to him, as it allowed tom more time at home, so he could aid his father on the inventive work and also plan things for himself. tom showed a taste for mechanics, and his father wisely decided that such training as his son needed could be given at home to better advantage than in a school or college. lessons over, tom hurried to his own particular shop, and began taking apart the damaged motor-cycle. "first i'll straighten the handle-bars, and then i'll fix the motor and transmission," he decided. "the front wheel i can buy in town, as this one would hardly pay for repairing." tom was soon busy with wrenches, hammers, pliers and screw-driver. he was in his element, and was whistling over his task. the motor he found in good condition, but it was not such an easy task as he had hoped to change the transmission. he had finally to appeal to his father, in order to get the right proportion between the back and front gears, for the motor-cycle was operated by a sprocket chain, instead of a belt drive, as is the case with some. mr. swift showed tom how to figure out the number of teeth needed on each sprocket, in order to get an increase of speed, and as there was a sprocket wheel from a disused piece of machinery available, tom took that. he soon had it in place, and then tried the motor. to his delight the number of revolutions of the rear wheel were increased about fifteen per cent. "i guess i'll make some speed," he announced to his father. "but it will take more gasolene to run the motor; don't forget that. you know the great principle of mechanics--that you can't get out of a machine any more than you put into it, nor quite as much, as a matter of fact, for considerable is lost through friction." "well, then, i'll enlarge the gasolene tank," declared tom. "i want to go fast when i'm going." he reassembled the machine, and after several hours of work had it in shape to run, except that a front wheel was lacking. "i think i'll go to town and get one," he remarked. "the rain isn't quite so hard now." in spite of his father's mild objections tom went, using his bicycle, the chain of which he had quickly repaired. he found just the front wheel needed, and that night his motor-cycle was ready to run. but it was too dark to try it then, especially as he had no good lantern, the one on the cycle having been smashed, and his own bicycle light not being powerful enough. so he had to postpone his trial trip until the next day. he was up early the following morning, and went out for a spin before breakfast. he came back, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, just as mr. swift and mrs. baggert were sitting down to the table. "to reedville and back," announced tom proudly. "what, a round trip of thirty miles!" exclaimed mr. swift. "that's what!" declared his son. "i went like a greased pig most of the way. i had to slow up going through mansburg, but the rest of at time i let it out for all it was worth." "you must be careful," cautioned his father. "you are not an expert yet." "no, i realize that. several times, when i wanted to slow up, i began to back-pedal, forgetting that i wasn't on my bicycle. then i thought to shut off the power and put on the brake. but it's glorious fun. i'm going out again as soon as i have something to eat. that is, unless you want me to help you, dad." "no, not this morning. learn to ride the motor-cycle. it may come in handy." neither tom nor his father realized what an important part the machine was soon to play in their lives. tom went out for another spin after breakfast, and in a different direction. he wanted to see what the machine would do on a hill, and there was a long, steep one about five miles from home. the roads were in fine shape after the rain, and he speeded up the incline at a rapid rate. "it certainly does eat up the road," the lad murmured. "i have improved this machine considerably. wish i could take out a patent on it." reaching the crest of the slope, he started down the incline. he turned off part of the power, and was gliding along joyously, when from a cross-road he suddenly saw turn into the main highway a mule, drawing a ramshackle wagon, loaded with fence posts. beside the animal walked an old colored man. "i hope he gets out of the way in time," thought tom. "he's moving as slow as molasses, and i'm going a bit faster than i like. guess i'll shut off and put on the brakes." the mule and wagon were now squarely across the road. tom was coming nearer and nearer. he turned the handle-grip, controlling the supply of gasolene, and to his horror he found that it was stuck. he could not stop the motor-cycle! "look out! look out!" cried tom to the negro. "get out of the way! i can't stop! let me pass you!" the darky looked up. he saw the approaching machine, and he seemed to lose possession of his senses. "whoa, boomerang!" cried the negro. "whoa! suffin's gwine t' happen!" "that's what!" muttered tom desperately, as he saw that there was not room for him to pass without going into the ditch, a proceeding that would mean an upset. "pull out of the way!" he yelled again. but either the driver could not understand, or did not appreciate the necessity. the mule stopped and reared up. the colored man hurried to the head of the animal to quiet it. "whoa, boomerang! jest yo' stand still!" he said. tom, with a great effort, managed to twist the grip and finally shut off the gasolene. but it was too late. he struck the darky with the front wheel. fortunately the youth had managed to somewhat reduce his speed by a quick application of the brake, or the result might have been serious. as it was, the colored man was gently lifted away from the mule's head and tossed into the long grass in the ditch. tom, by a great effort, succeeded in maintaining his seat in the saddle, and then, bringing the machine to a stop, he leaped off and turned back. the colored man was sitting up, looking dazed. "whoa, boomerang!" he murmured. "suffin's happened!" but the mule, who had quieted down, only waggled his ears lazily, and tom, ready to laugh, now that he saw he had not committed manslaughter, hurried to where the colored man was sitting. chapter viii. suspicious actions "are you hurt?" asked tom as he leaned his motor-cycle against the fence and stood beside the negro. "hurt?" repeated the darky. "i'se killed, dat's what i is! i ain't got a whole bone in mah body! good landy, but i suttinly am in a awful state! would yo' mind tellin' me if dat ar' mule am still alive?" "of course he is," answered tom. "he isn't hurt a bit. but why can't you turn around and look for yourself?" "no, sah! no, indeedy, sah!" replied the colored man. "yo' doan't catch dis yeah nigger lookin' around!" "why not?" "why not? 'cause i'll tell yo' why not. i'm so stiff an' i'm so nearly broke t' pieces, dat if i turn mah head around it suah will twist offen mah body. no, sah! no, indeedy, sah, i ain't gwine t' turn 'round. but am yo' suah dat mah mule boomerang ain't hurted?" "no, he's not hurt a bit, and i'm sure you are not. i didn't strike you hard, for i had almost stopped my machine. try to get up. i'm positive you'll find yourself all right. i'm sorry it happened." "oh, dat's all right. doan't mind me," went on the colored man. "it was mah fault fer gittin in de road. but dat mule boomerang am suttinly de most outrageous quadruped dat ever circumlocuted." "why do you call him boomerang?" asked tom, wondering if the negro really was hurt. "what fo' i call him boomerang? did yo' eber see dem australian black mans what go around wid a circus t'row dem crooked sticks dey calls boomerangs?" "yes, i've seen them." "well, boomerang, mah mule, am jest laik dat. he's crooked, t' begin wid, an' anudder t'ing, yo' can't never tell when yo' start him whar he's gwine t' land up. dat's why i calls him boomerang." "i see. it's a very proper name. but why don't you try to get up?" "does yo' t'ink i can?" "sure. try it. by the way, what's your name?" "my name? why i was christened eradicate andrew jackson abraham lincoln sampson, but folks most ginnerally calls me eradicate sampson, an' some doan't eben go to dat length. dey jest calls me rad, fo' short." "eradicate," mused tom. "that's a queer name, too. why were you called that?" "well, yo' see i eradicates de dirt. i'm a cleaner an' a whitewasher by profession, an' somebody gib me dat name. dey said it were fitten an' proper, an' i kept it eber sence. yais, sah, i'se eradicate sampson, at yo' service. yo' ain't got no chicken coops yo' wants cleaned out, has yo'? or any stables or fences t' whitewash? i guarantees satisfaction." "well, i might find some work for you to do," replied the young inventor, thinking this would be as good a means as any of placating the darky. "but come, now, try and see if you can't stand. i don't believe i broke any of your legs." "i guess not. i feels better now. where am dat work yo' was speakin' ob?" and eradicate sampson, now that there seemed to be a prospect of earning money, rose quickly and easily. "why, you're all right!" exclaimed tom, glad to find that the accident had had no serious consequences. "yais, sah, i guess i be. whar did yo' say, yo' had some whitewashin' t' do?" "no place in particular, but there is always something that needs doing at our house. if you call i'll give you a job." "yais, sah, i'll be sure to call," and eradicate walked back to where boomerang was patiently waiting. tom told the colored man how to find the swift home, and was debating with himself whether he ought not to offer eradicate some money as compensation for knocking him into the air, when he noticed that the negro was tying one wheel of his wagon fast to the body of the vehicle with a rope. "what are you doing that for?" asked tom. "got to, t' git downhill wid dis load ob fence posts," was the answer. "ef i didn't it would be right on to de heels ob boomerang, an' wheneber he feels anyt'ing on his heels he does act wuss dan a circus mule." "but why don't you use your brake? i see you have one on the wagon. use the brake to hold back going downhill." "'scuse me, mistah swift, 'scuse me!" exclaimed eradicate quickly. "but yo' doan't know dat brake. it's wuss dan none at all. it doan't work, fer a fact. no, indeedy, sah. i'se got to rope de wheel." tom was interested at once. he made an examination of the brake, and soon saw why it would not hold the wheels. the foot lever was not properly connected with the brake bar. it was a simple matter to adjust it by changing a single bolt, and this tom did with tools he took from the bag on his motor-cycle. the colored man looked on in open-mouthed amazement, and even boomerang peered lazily around, as if taking an interest in the proceedings. "there," said tom at length, as he tightened the nut. "that brake will work now, and hold the wagon on any hill. you won't need to rope the wheel. you didn't have the right leverage on it." "'scuse me, mistah swift, but what's dat yo' said?" and eradicate leaned forward to listen deferentially. "i said you didn't have the right leverage." "no, sah, mistah swift, 'scuse me, but yo' made a slight mistake. i ain't never had no liverage on dis yeah wagon. it ain't dat kind ob a wagon. i onct drove a livery rig, but dat were some years ago. i ain't worked fo' de livery stable in some time now. dat's why i know dere ain't no livery on dis wagon. yo'll 'scuse me, but yo' am slightly mistaken." "all right," rejoined tom with a laugh, not thinking it worth while to explain what he meant by the lever force of the brake rod. "let it go at that. livery or no livery, your brake will work now. i guess you're all right. now don't forget to come around and do some whitewashing," and seeing that the colored man was able to mount to the seat and start off boomerang, who seemed to have deep-rooted objections about moving, tom wheeled his motor-cycle back to the road. eradicate sampson drove his wagon a short distance and then suddenly applied the brake. it stopped short, and the mule looked around as if surprised. "it suah do work, mistah swift!" called the darky to tom, who was waiting the result of his little repair job. "it suah do work!" "i'm glad of it." "mah golly! but yo' am suttinly a conjure-man when it comes t' fixin' wagons! did yo' eber work fer a blacksmith?" "no, not exactly. well, good-by, eradicate. i'll look for you some day next week." with that tom leaped on his machine and speeded off ahead of the colored man and his rig. as he passed the load of fence posts the youth heard eradicate remark in awestricken tones: "mah golly! he suttinly go laik de wind! an' t' t'ink dat i were hit by dat monstrousness machine, an' not hurted! mah golly! t'ings am suttinly happenin'! g'lang, boomerang!" "this machine has more possibilities in it than i suspected," mused tom. "but one thing i've got to change, and that is the gasolene and spark controls. i don't like them the way they are. i want a better leverage, just as eradicate needed on his wagon. i'll fix them, too, when i get home." he rode for several hours, until he thought it was about dinner time, and then, heading the machine toward home, he put on all the speed possible, soon arriving where his father was at work in the shop. "well, how goes it?" asked mr. swift with a smile as he looked at the flushed face of his son. "fine, dad! i scooted along in great shape. had an adventure, too." "you didn't meet any more of those men, did you? the men who are trying to get my invention?" asked mr. swift apprehensively. "no, indeed, dad. i simply had a little run-in with a chap named eradicate andrew jackson abraham lincoln sampson, otherwise known as rad sampson, and i engaged him to do some whitewashing for us. we do need some white washing done, don't we, dad?" "what's that?" asked mr. swift, thinking his son was joking. then tom told of the happening. "yes, i think i can find some work for eradicate to do," went on mr. swift. "there is some dirt in the boiler shop that needs eradicating, and i think he can do it. but dinner has been waiting some time. we'll go in now, or mrs. baggert will be out after us." father and son were soon at the table, and tom was explaining what he meant to do to improve his motor-cycle. his father offered some suggestions regarding the placing of the gasolene lever. "i'd put it here," he said, and with his pencil he began to draw a diagram on the white table cloth. "oh, my goodness me, mr. swift!" exclaimed mrs. baggert. "whatever are you doing?" and she sprang up in some alarm. "what's the matter? did i upset my tea?" asked the inventor innocently. "no; but you are soiling a clean tablecloth. pencil-marks are so hard to get out. take a piece of paper, please." "oh, is that all?" rejoined mr. swift with a smile. "well, tom, here is the way i would do that," and substituting the back of an envelope for the tablecloth, he continued the drawing. tom was looking over his father's shoulder interestedly, when mrs. baggert, who was taking off some of the dinner dishes, suddenly asked: "are you expecting a visitor, mr. swift?" "a visitor? no. why?" asked the inventor quickly. "because i just saw a man going in the machine shop," went on the housekeeper. "a man! in the machine shop!" exclaimed tom, rising from his chair. mr. swift also got up, and the two hurried from the house. as they reached the yard they saw a man emerging from the building where mr. swift was constructing his turbine motor. the man had his back turned toward them and seemed to be sneaking around, as though desirous of escaping observation. "what do you want?" called mr. swift. the man turned quickly. at the sight of mr. swift and tom he made a jump to one side and got behind a big packing-box. "that's queer," spoke tom. "i wonder what he wants?" "i'll soon see," rejoined mr. swift, and he started on a run toward where the man was hiding. tom followed his father, and as the two inventors reached the box the man sprang from behind it and down the yard to a lane that passed in back of the swift house. as he ran he was seen to stuff some papers in his pocket. "my plans! he's stolen some of my plans!" cried mr. swift. "catch him, tom!" tom ran after the stranger, whose curious actions had roused their suspicions, while mr. swift entered the motor shop to ascertain whether anything had been stolen. chapter ix. a fruitless pursuit down through the yard tom speeded, in and out among the buildings, looking on every side for a sight of the bold stranger. no one was to be seen. "he can't be very far ahead," thought tom. "i ought to catch him before he gets to the woods. if he reaches there he has a good chance of getting away." there was a little patch of trees just back of the inventor's house, not much of a woods, perhaps, but that is what they were called. "i wonder if he was some ordinary tramp, looking for what he could steal, or if he was one of the gang after dad's invention?" thought tom as he sprinted ahead. by this time the youth was clear of the group of buildings and in sight of a tall, board fence, which surrounded the swift estate on three sides. here and there, along the barrier, were piled old packing-cases, so that it would be easy for a fugitive to leap upon one of them and so get over the fence. tom thought of this possibility in a moment. "i guess he got over ahead of me," the lad exclaimed, and he peered sharply about. "i'll catch him on the other side!" at that instant tom tripped over a plank and went down full length, making quite a racket. when he picked himself up he was surprised to see the man he was after dart from inside a big box and start for the fence, near a point where there were some packing-cases piled up, making a good approach to the barrier. the fugitive had been hiding, waiting for a chance to escape, and tom's fall had alarmed him. "here! hold on there! come back!" cried the youth as he recovered his wind and leaped forward. but the man did not stay. with a bound he was up on the pile of boxes, and the next moment he was poised on top of the fence. before leaping down on the other side, a jump at which even a practiced athlete might well hesitate, the fleeing stranger paused and looked back. tom gazed at him and recognized the man in an instant. he was the third of the mysterious trio whom the lad had seen in the mansburg restaurant. "wait a minute! what do you want sneaking around here?" shouted tom as he ran forward. the man returned no answer, and an instant later disappeared from view on the other side of the fence. "he jumped down!" thought tom. "a big leap, too. well, i've got to follow. this is a queer proceeding. first one, then the second, and now the third of those men seem determined to get something here. i wonder if this one succeeded? i'll soon find out." the lad was up on the pile of packing-cases and over the fence in almost record time. he caught a glimpse of the fugitive running toward the woods. then the boy leaped down, jarring himself considerably, and took after the man. but though tom was a good runner he was handicapped by the fact that the man had a start of him, and also by the fact that the stranger had had a chance to rest while hiding for the second time in the big box, while tom had kept on running. so it is no great cause for wonder that mr. swift's son found himself being distanced. once, twice he called on the fleeing one to halt, but the man paid no attention, and did not even turn around. then the youth wisely concluded to save his wind for running. he did his best, but was chagrined to see the man reach the woods ahead of him. "i've lost him now," thought tom. "well, there's no help for it." still he did not give up, but kept on through the patch of trees. on the farther side was lake carlopa, a broad and long sheet of water. "if he doesn't know the lake's there," thought our hero, "he may keep straight on. the water will be sure to stop him, and i can catch him. but what will i do with him after i get him? that's another question. i guess i've got a right to demand to know what he was doing around our place, though." but tom need not have worried on this score. he could hear the fugitive ahead of him, and marked his progress by the crackling of the underbrush. "i'm almost up to him," exulted the young inventor. then, at the same moment, he caught sight of the man running, and a glimpse of the sparkling water of lake carlopa. "i've got him! i've got him!" tom almost cried aloud in his excitement. "unless he takes to the water and swims for it, i've got him!" but tom did not reckon on a very simple matter, and that was the possibility of the man having a boat at hand. for this is just what happened. reaching the lake shore the fugitive with a final spurt managed to put considerable distance between himself and tom. drawn up on the beach was a little motor-boat. in this, after he had pushed it from shore, the stranger leaped. it was the work of but a second to set the engine in motion, and as tom reached the edge of the woods and started across the narrow strip of sand and gravel that was between the water and the trees, he saw the man steering his craft toward the middle of the lake. "well--i'll--be--jiggered!" exclaimed the youth. "who would have thought he'd have a motor-boat waiting for him? he planned this well." there was nothing to do but turn back. tom had a small rowboat and a sailing skiff on the lake, but his boathouse was some distance away, and even if he could get one of his craft out, the motor-boat would soon distance it. "he's gone!" thought the searcher regretfully. the man in the motor-boat did not look back. he sat in the bow, steering the little craft right across the broadest part of lake carlopa. "i wonder where he came from, and where he's going?" mused tom. "that's a boat i never saw on this lake before. it must be a new one. well, there's no help for it, i've got to go back and tell dad i couldn't catch him." and with a last look at the fugitive, who, with his boat, was becoming smaller and smaller every minute, tom turned and retraced his steps. chapter x. off to albany "did you catch him, tom?" asked mr. swift eagerly when his son returned, but the inventor needed but a glance at the lad's despondent face to have his question answered without words, "never mind," he added, "there's not much harm done, fortunately." "did he get anything? any of your plans or models, dad?" "no; not as far as i can discover. my papers in the shop were not disturbed, but it looked as if the turbine model had been moved. the only thing missing seems to be a sheet of unimportant calculations. luckily i had my most valuable drawings in the safe in the house." "yet that man seemed to be putting papers in his pocket, dad. maybe he made copies of some of your drawings." "that's possible, tom, and i admit it worries me. i can't imagine who that man is, unless--" "why, he's one of the three men i saw in mansburg in the restaurant," said tom eagerly. "two of them tried to get information here, and now the third one comes. he got away in a motor-boat," and tom told how the fugitive escaped. mr. swift looked worried. it was not the first time attempts had been made to steal his inventions, but on this occasion a desperate and well-organized plan appeared to be on foot. "what do you think they are up to, dad?" asked tom. "i think they are trying to get hold of my turbine motor, tom. you know i told you that the financiers were disappointed in the turbine motor they bought of another inventor. it does not work. to get back the money they spent in building an expensive plant they must have a motor that is successful. hence their efforts to get control of mine. i don't know whether i told you or not, but some time ago i refused a very good offer for certain rights in my invention. i knew it was worth more. the offer came through smeak & katch, the lawyers, and when i refused it they seemed much disappointed. i think now that this same firm, and the financiers who have employed them, are trying by all the means in their power to get possession of my ideas, if not the invention and model itself." "what can you do, dad?" "well, i must think. i certainly must take some means to protect myself. i have had trouble before, but never any like this. i did not think those men would be so unscrupulous." "do you know their names?" "no, only from that telegram we found; the one which the first stranger dropped. one of them must be anson morse. who the others are i don't know. but now i must make some plans to foil these sharpers. i may have to call on you for help, tom." "and i'll be ready any time you call on me, dad," responded tom, drawing himself up. "can i do anything for you right away?" "no; i must think out a plan." "then i am going to change my motor-cycle a bit. i'll put some more improvements on it." "and i will write some letters to my lawyers in washington and ask their advice." it took tom the remainder of that day, and part of the next, to arrange the gasolene and spark control of his machine to his satisfaction. he had to make two small levers and some connecting rods. this he did in his own particular machine shop, which was fitted up with a lathe and other apparatus. the lathe was run by power coming from a small engine, which was operated by an engineer, an elderly man to whom mr. swift had given employment for many years. he was garret jackson, and he kept so close to his engine and boiler-room that he was seldom seen outside of it except when the day's work was done. one afternoon, a few days after the unsuccessful chase after the fugitive had taken place, tom went out for a spin on his motor-cycle. he found that the machine worked much better, and was easier to control. he rode about fifteen miles away from home, and then returned. as he entered the yard he saw, standing on the drive, a ramshackle old wagon, drawn by a big mule, which seemed, at the time tom observed him, to be asleep. "i'll wager that's boomerang," said tom aloud, and the mule opened its eyes, wiggled its ears and started forward. "whoa dar, boomerang!" exclaimed a voice, and eradicate sampson hurried around the corner of the house. "dat's jest lake yo'," went on the colored man. "movin' when yo' ain't wanted to." then, as he caught sight of tom, he exclaimed, "why, if it ain't young mistah swift! good lordy! but dat livery brake yo' done fixed on mah wagon suttinly am fine. ah kin go down de steepest hill widout ropin' de wheel." "glad of it," replied tom. "did you come to do some work?" "yais, sah, i done did. i found i had some time t' spah, an' thinks i dere might be some whitewashin' i could do. yo' see, i lib only 'bout two mile from heah." "well, i guess you can do a few jobs," said tom. "wait here." he hunted up his father, and obtained permission to set eradicate at work cleaning out a chicken house and whitewashing it. the darky was soon at work. a little later tom passing saw him putting the whitewash on thick. eradicate stopped at the sight of tom, and made some curious motions. "what's the matter, rad?" asked the young inventor. "why, de whitewash done persist in runnin' down de bresh handle an' inter mah sleeve. i'm soakin' wet from it now, an' i has t' stop ebery onct in a while 'case mah sleeve gits full." tom saw what the trouble was. the white fluid did run down the long brush handle in a small rivulet. tom had once seen a little rubber device on a window-cleaning brush that worked well, and he decided to try it for eradicate. "wait a minute," tom advised. "i think i can stop that for you." the colored man was very willing to take a rest, but it did not last long, for tom was soon back at the chicken coop. he had a small rubber disk, with a hole in the center, the size of the brush handle. slipping the disk over the wood, he pushed it about half way along, and then, handing the brush back to the negro, told him to try it that way. "did yo' done put a charm on mah bresh?" asked eradicate somewhat doubtfully. "yes, a sort of hoodoo charm. try it now." the darky dipped his brush in the pail of whitewash, and then began to spread the disinfectant on the sides of the coop near the top. the surplus fluid started to run down the handle, but, meeting the piece of rubber, came no farther, and dripped off on the ground. it did not run down the sleeve of eradicate. "well, i 'clar t' goodness! that suttinly am a mighty fine charm!" cried the colored man. "yo' suah am a pert gen'men, all right. now i kin work widout stoppin' t' empty mah sleeve ob lime juice ebery minute. i'se suttinly obliged t' yo'." "you're welcome, i'm sure," replied tom. "i think some day i'll invent a machine for whitewashing, and then--" "doan't do dat! doan't do dat!" begged eradicate earnestly. "dis, an' makin' dirt disappear, am de only perfessions i got. doan't go 'ventin' no machine, mistah swift." "all right. i'll wait until you get rich." "ha, ha! den yo' gwine t' wait a pow'ful long time," chuckled eradicate as he went on with his whitewashing. tom went into the house. he found his father busy with some papers at his desk. "ah, it's you, is it, tom?" asked the inventor, looking up. "i was just wishing you would come in." "what for, dad?" "well, i have quite an important mission for you. i want you to go on a journey." "a journey? where?" "to albany. you see, i've been thinking over matters, and i have been in correspondence with my lawyers in regard to my turbine motor. i must take measures to protect myself. you know i have not yet taken out a complete patent on the machine. i have not done so because i did not want to put my model on exhibition in washington. i was afraid some of those unscrupulous men would take advantage of me. another point was that i had not perfected a certain device that goes on the motor. that objection is now removed, and i am ready to send my model to washington, and take out the complete patent." "but i thought you said you wanted me to go to albany." "so i do. i will explain. i have just had a letter from reid & crawford, my washington attorneys. mr. crawford, the junior member of the firm, will be in albany this week on some law business. he agrees to receive my model and some papers there, and take them back to washington with him. in this way they will be well protected. you see, i have to be on my guard, and if i send the model to albany, instead of the national capital, i may throw the plotters off the track, for i feel that they are watching every move i make. as soon as you or i should start for washington they would be on our trail. but you can go to albany unsuspected. mr. crawford will wait for you there. i want you to start day after to-morrow." "all right, dad. i can start now, if you say so." "no, there is no special need for haste. i have some matters to arrange. you might go to the station and inquire about trains to the state capital." "am i going by train?" "certainly. how else could you go?" there was a look of excitement in tom's eyes. he had a sudden idea. "dad," he exclaimed, "why couldn't i go on my motor-cycle?" "your motor-cycle?" "yes. i could easily make the trip on it in one day. the roads are good, and i would enjoy it. i can carry the model back of me on the saddle. it is not very large." "well," said mr. swift slowly, for the idea was a new one to him, "i suppose that part would be all right. but you have not had much experience riding a motor-cycle. besides, you don't know the roads." "i can inquire. will you let me go, dad?" mr. swift appeared to hesitate. "it will be fine!" went on tom. "i would enjoy the trip, and there's another thing. if we want to keep this matter secret the best plan would be to let me go on my machine. if those men are on the watch, they will not think that i have the model. they will think i'm just going for a pleasure jaunt." "there's something in that," admitted mr. swift, and tom, seeing that his father was favorably inclined, renewed his arguments, until the inventor finally agreed. "it will be a great trip!" exclaimed tom. "i'll go all over my machine now, to see that it's in good shape. you get your papers and model ready, dad, and i'll take them to albany for you. the motor-cycle will come in handy." but had tom only known the dangers ahead of him, and the risks he was to run, he would not have whistled so light heartedly as he went over every nut and bolt on his machine. two days later, the valuable model, having been made into a convenient package, and wrapped in water-proof paper, was fastened back of the saddle on the motor-cycle. tom carefully pinned in an inside pocket the papers which were to be handed to mr. crawford. he was to meet the lawyer at a hotel in albany. "now take care of yourself, tom," cautioned his father as he bade him good-by. "don't try to make speed, as there is no special rush. and, above all, don't lose anything." "i'll not, dad," and with a wave of his hand to mr. swift and the housekeeper, who stood in the door to see him off, tom jumped into the saddle, started the machine, and then, after sufficient momentum had been attained, he turned on the gasolene and set the spark lever. with rattles and bangs, which were quickly subdued by the muffler, the machine gathered speed. tom was off for albany. chapter xi. a vindictive tramp though tom's father had told him there was no necessity for any great speed, the young inventor could not resist the opportunity for pushing his machine to the limit. the road was a level one and in good condition, so the motor-cycle fairly flew along. the day was pleasant, a warm sun shining overhead, and it was evident that early summer was crowding spring rather closely. "this is glorious!" exclaimed tom aloud as he spun along. "i'm glad i persuaded dad to let me take this trip. it was a great idea. wish ned newton was along, though. he'd be company for me, but, as ned would say, there are two good reasons why he can't come. one is he has to work in the bank, and the other is that he has no motor-cycle." tom swept past house after house along the road, heading in the opposite direction from that in which lay the town of shopton and the city of mansburg. for several miles tom's route would lie through a country district. the first large town he would reach would be centreford. he planned to get lunch there, and he had brought a few sandwiches with him to eat along the road in case he became hungry before he reached the place. "i hope the package containing the model doesn't jar off," mused the lad as he reached behind to make sure that the precious bundle was safe. "dad would be in a bad way if that should disappear. and the papers, too." he put his hand to his inner pocket to feel that they were secure. coming to a little down-grade, tom shut off some of the power, the new levers he had arranged to control the gasolene and spark working well. "i think i'll take the old wood road and pass through pompville," tom decided, after covering another mile or two. he was approaching a division in the highway. "it's a bit sandy," he went on, "and the going will be heavy, but it will be a good chance to test my machine. besides, i'll save five miles, and, while i don't have to hurry, i may need time on the other end. i'd rather arrive in albany a little before dusk than after dark. i can deliver the model and papers and have a good night's sleep before starting back. so the old wood road it will be." the wood road, as tom called it, was a seldom used highway, which, originally, was laid out for just what the name indicated, to bring wood from the forest. with the disappearance of most of the trees the road became more used for ordinary traffic between the towns of pompville and edgefield. but when the state built a new highway connecting these two places the old road fell into disuse, though it was several miles shorter than the new turnpike. he turned from the main thoroughfare, and was soon spinning along the sandy stretch, which was shaded with trees that in some places met overhead, forming a leafy arch. it was cool and pleasant, and tom liked it. "it isn't as bad as i thought," he remarked. "the sand is pretty thick, but this machine of mine appears to be able to crawl through it." indeed, the motor-cycle was doing remarkably well, but tom found that he had to turn on full power, for the big rubber wheels went deep into the soft soil. along tom rode, picking out the firmest places in the road. he was so intent on this that he did not pay much attention to what was immediately ahead of him, knowing that he was not very likely to meet other vehicles or pedestrians. he was considerably startled therefore when, as he went around a turn in the highway where the bushes grew thick, right down to the edge of the road, to see a figure emerge from the underbrush and start across the path. so quickly did the man appear that tom was almost upon him in an instant, and even though the young inventor shut off the power and applied the brake, the front wheel hit the man and knocked him down. "what's the matter with you? what are you trying to do--kill me? why don't you ring a bell or blow a horn when you're coming?" the man had sprung up from the soft sand where the wheel from the motor-cycle had sent him and faced tom angrily. then the rider, who had quickly dismounted, saw that his victim was a ragged tramp. "i'm sorry," began tom. "you came out of the bushes so quickly that i didn't have a chance to warn you. did i hurt you much?" "well, youse might have. 'tain't your fault dat youse didn't," and the tramp began to brush the dirt from his ragged coat. tom was instantly struck by a curious fact. the tramp in his second remarks used language more in keeping with his character, whereas, in his first surprise and anger, he had talked much as any other person would. "youse fellers ain't got no right t' ride dem machines like lightnin' along de roads," the ragged chap went on, and he still clung to the use of words and expressions current among his fraternity. tom wondered at it, and then, ascribing the use of the better language to the fright caused by being hit by the machine, the lad thought no more about it at the time. there was occasion, however, when he attached more meaning to it. "i'm very sorry," went on tom. "i'm sure i didn't mean to. you see, i was going quite slowly, and--" "you call dat slow, when youse hit me an' knocked me down?" demanded the tramp. "i'd oughter have youse arrested, dat's what, an' i would if dere was a cop handy." "i wasn't going at all fast," said tom, a little nettled that his conciliatory words should be so rudely received. "if i had been going full speed i'd have knocked you fifty feet." "it's a good thing. cracky, den i'm glad dat youse wasn't goin' like dat," and the tramp seemed somewhat confused. this time tom looked at him more closely, for the change in his language had been very plain. the fellow seemed uneasy, and turned his face away. as he did so tom caught a glimpse of what he was sure was a false beard. it was altogether too well-kept a beard to be a natural one for such a dirty tramp as this one appeared to be. "that fellow's disguised!" tom thought. "he's playing a part. i wonder if i'd better take chances and spring it on him that i'm on to his game?" then the ragged man spoke again: "i s'pose it was part my fault, cully. i didn't know dat any guy was comin' along on one of dem buzz-machines, or i'd been more careful. i don't s'pose youse meant to upset me?" and he looked at tom more boldly. this time his words seemed so natural, and his beard, now that tom took a second look at it, so much a part of himself, that the young inventor wondered if he could have been mistaken in his first surmise. "perhaps he was once a gentleman, and has turned tramp because of hard luck," thought tom. "that would account for him using good language at times. guess i'd better keep still." then to the tramp he said: "i'm sure i didn't mean to hit you. i admit i wasn't looking where i was going, but i never expected to meet any one on this road. i certainly didn't expect to see a--" he paused in some confusion. he was about to use the term "tramp," and he hesitated, not knowing how it would be received by his victim. "oh, dat's all right, cully. call me a tramp--i know dat's what youse was goin' t' say. i'm used t' it. i've been a hobo so many years now dat i don't mind. de time was when i was a decent chap, though. but i'm a tramp now. say, youse couldn't lend me a quarter, could youse?" he approached closer to tom, and looked quickly up and down the road. the highway was deserted, nor was there any likelihood that any one would come along. tom was somewhat apprehensive, for the tramp was a burly specimen. the young inventor, however, was not so much alarmed at the prospect of a personal encounter, as that he feared he might be robbed, not only of his money, but the valuable papers and model he carried. even if the tramp was content with taking his money, it would mean that tom would have to go back home for more, and so postpone his trip. so it was with no little alarm that he watched the ragged man coming nearer to him. then a bright idea came into tom's head. he quickly shifted his position so that he brought the heavy motor-cycle between the man and himself. he resolved, if the tramp showed a disposition to attack him, to push the machine over on him, and this would give tom a chance to attack the thief to better advantage. however, the "hobo" showed no evidence of wanting to resort to highwayman methods. he paused a short distance from the machine, and said admiringly: "dat's a pretty shebang youse has." "yes, it's very fair," admitted tom, who was not yet breathing easily. "kin youse go far on it?" "two hundred miles a day, easily." "fer cats' sake! an' i can't make dat ridin' on de blind baggage; but dat's 'cause i gits put off so much. but say, is youse goin' to let me have dat quarter? i need it, honest i do. i ain't had nuttin' t' eat in two days." the man's tone was whining. surely he seemed like a genuine tramp, and tom felt a little sorry for him. besides, he felt that he owed him something for the unceremonious manner in which he had knocked the fellow down. tom reached his hand in his pocket for some change, taking care to keep the machine between himself and the tramp. "are youse goin' far on dat rig-a-ma-jig?" went on the man as he looked carefully over the motor-cycle. "to albany," answered tom, and the moment the words were out of his mouth he wished he could recall them. all his suspicions regarding the tramp came back to him. but the ragged chap appeared to attach no significance to them. "albany? dat's in jersey, ain't it?" he asked. "no, it's in new york," replied tom, and then, to change the subject, he pulled out a half-dollar and handed it to the man. as he did so tom noticed that the tramp had tattooed on the little finger of his left hand a blue ring. "dat's de stuff! youse is a reg'lar millionaire, youse is!" exclaimed the tramp, and his manner seemed in earnest. "i'll remember youse, i will. what's your name, anyhow, cully?" "tom swift," replied our hero, and again he wished he had not told. this time he was sure the tramp started and glanced at him quickly, but perhaps it was only his imagination. "tom swift," repeated the man musingly, and his tones were different from the whining ones in which he had asked for money. then, as if recollecting the part he was playing, he added: "i s'pose dey calls youse dat because youse rides so quick on dat machine. but i'm certainly obliged to youse--tom swift, an' i hopes youse gits t' albany, in jersey, in good time." he turned away, and tom was beginning to breathe more easily when the ragged man, with a quick gesture, reached out and grabbed hold of the motor-cycle. he gave it such a pull that it was nearly torn from tom's grasp. the lad was so startled at the sudden exhibition of vindictiveness an the part of the tramp that he did not know what to do. then, before he could recover himself, the tramp darted into the bushes. "i guess happy harry--dat's me--has spoiled your ride t' albany!" the tramp cried. "maybe next time youse won't run down poor fellers on de road," and with that, the ragged man, shaking his fist at tom, was lost to sight in the underbrush. "well, if that isn't a queer end up," mused tom. "he must be crazy. i hope i don't meet you again, happy harry, or whatever your name is. guess i'll get out of this neighborhood." chapter xii. the men in the auto tom first made sure that the package containing the model was still safely in place back of his saddle on the motor-cycle. finding it there he next put his hand in his pocket to see that he had the papers. "they're all right," spoke tom aloud. "i didn't know but what that chap might have worked a pickpocket game on me. i'm glad i didn't meet him after dark. well, it's a good thing it's no worse. i wonder if he tried to get my machine away from me? don't believe he'd know how to ride it if he did." tom wheeled his motor-cycle to a hard side-path along the old road, and jumped into the saddle. he worked the pedals preparatory to turning on the gasolene and spark to set the motor in motion. as he threw forward the levers, having acquired what he thought was the necessary momentum, he was surprised that no explosion followed. the motor seemed "dead." "that's queer," he thought, and he began to pedal more rapidly. "it always used to start easily. maybe it doesn't like this sandy road." it was hard work sending the heavy machine along by "leg power," and once more, when he had acquired what he thought was sufficient speed, tom turned on the power. but no explosions followed, and in some alarm he jumped to the ground. "something's wrong," he said aloud. "that tramp must have damaged the machine when he yanked it so." tom went quickly over the different parts. it did not take him long to discover what the trouble was. one of the wires, leading from the batteries to the motor, which wire served to carry the current of electricity that exploded the mixture of air and gasolene, was missing. it had been broken off close to the battery box and the spark plug. "that's what happy harry did!" exclaimed tom. "he pulled that wire off when he yanked my machine. that's what he meant by hoping i'd get to albany. that fellow was no tramp. he was disguised, and up to some game. and he knows something about motor-cycles, too, or he never would have taken that wire. i'm stalled, now, for i haven't got another piece. i ought to have brought some. i'll have to push this machine until i get to town, or else go back home." the young inventor looked up and down the lonely road, undecided what to do. to return home meant that he would be delayed in getting to albany, for he would lose a day. if he pushed on to pompville he might be able to get a bit of wire there. tom decided that was his best plan, and plodded on through the thick sand. he had not gone more than a quarter of a mile, every step seeming harder than the preceding one, when he heard, from the woods close at his left hand, a gun fired. he jumped so that he nearly let the motor-cycle fall over, for a wild idea came into his head that the tramp had shot at him. with a quickly-beating heart the lad looked about him. "i wonder if that was happy harry?" he mused. there was a crackling in the bushes and tom, wondering what he might do to protect himself, looked toward the place whence the noise proceeded. a moment later a hunter stepped into view. the man carried a gun and wore a canvas suit, a belt about his waist being filled with cartridges. "hello!" he exclaimed pleasantly, then, seeing a look of alarm on the lad's face, he went on: "i hope i didn't shoot in your direction, young man; did i?" "no--no, sir," replied the youthful inventor, who had hardly recovered his composure. "i heard your gun, and i imagined--" "did you think you had been shot? you must have a very vivid imagination, for i fired in the air." "no, i didn't exactly think that," replied tom, "but i just had an encounter with an ugly tramp, and i feared he might be using me for a target." "is that so. i hadn't noticed any tramps around here, and i've been in these woods nearly all day. did he harm you?" "no, not me, but my motor-cycle," and the lad explained. "pshaw! that's too bad!" exclaimed the hunter. "i wish i could supply you with a bit of wire, but i haven't any. i'm just walking about, trying my new gun." "i shouldn't think you'd find anything to shoot this time of year," remarked tom. "i don't expect to," answered the hunter, who had introduced himself as theodore duncan. "but i have just purchased a new gun, and i wanted to try it. i expect to do considerable hunting this fall, and so i'm getting ready for it." "do you live near here?" "well, about ten miles away, on the other side of lake carlopa, but i am fond of long walks in the woods. if you ever get to waterford i wish you'd come and see me, mr. swift. i have heard of your father." "i will, mr. duncan; but if i don't get something to repair my machine with i'm not likely to get anywhere right away." "well, i wish i could help you, but i haven't the least ingenuity when it comes to machinery. now if i could help you track down that tramp--" "oh, no, thank you, i'd rather not have anything more to do with him." "if i caught sight of him now," resumed the hunter, "i fancy i could make him halt, and, perhaps, give you back the wire. i'm a pretty good shot, even if this is a new gun. i've been practicing at improvised targets all day." "no; the less i have to do with him, the better i shall like it," answered tom, "though i'm much obliged to you. i'll manage somehow until i get to pompville." he started off again, the hunter disappearing in the woods, whence the sound of his gun was again heard. "he's a queer chap," murmured tom, "but i like him. perhaps i may see him when i go to waterford, if i ever do." tom was destined to see the hunter again, at no distant time, and under strange circumstances. but now the lad's whole attention was taken up with the difficulty in which he found himself. vainly musing on what object the tramp could have had in breaking off the wire, the young inventor trudged on. "i guess he was one of the gang after dad's invention," thought tom, "and he must have wanted to hinder me from getting to albany, though why i can't imagine." with a dubious shake of his head tom proceeded. it was hard work pushing the heavy machine through the sand, and he was puffing before he had gone very far. "i certainly am up against it," he murmured. "but if i can get a bit of wire in pompville i'll be all right. if i can't--" just then tom saw something which caused him to utter an exclamation of delight. "that's the very thing!" he cried. "why didn't i think of it before?" leaving his motor-cycle standing against a tree tom hurried to a fence that separated the road from a field. the fence was a barbed-wire one, and in a moment tom had found a broken strand. "guess no one will care if i take a piece of this," he reasoned. "it will answer until i can get more. i'll have it in place in a jiffy!" it did not take long to get his pliers from his toolbag and snip off a piece of the wire. untwisting it he took out the sharp barbs, and then was ready to attach it to the binding posts of the battery box and the spark plug. "hold on, though!" he exclaimed as he paused in the work. "it's got to be insulated, or it will vibrate against the metal of the machine and short circuit. i have it! my handkerchief! i s'pose mrs. baggert will kick at tearing up a good one, but i can't help it." tom took a spare handkerchief from the bundle in which he had a few belongings carried with the idea of spending the night at an albany hotel, and he was soon wrapping strips of linen around the wire, tying them with pieces of string. "there!" he exclaimed at length. "that's insulated good enough, i guess. now to fasten it on and start." the young inventor, who was quick with tools, soon had the improvised wire in place. he tested the spark and found that it was almost as good as when the regular copper conductor was in place. then, having taken a spare bit of the barbed-wire along in case of another emergency, he jumped on the motor-cycle, pedaled it until sufficient speed was attained, and turned on the power. "that's the stuff!" he cried as the welcome explosions sounded. "i guess i've fooled happy harry! i'll get to albany pretty nearly on time, anyhow. but that tramp surely had me worried for a while." he rode into pompville, and on inquiring in a plumbing shop managed to get a bit of copper wire that answered better than did the galvanized piece from the fence. the readjustment was quickly made, and he was on his way again. as it was getting close to noon he stopped near a little spring outside of pompville and ate a sandwich, washing it down with the cold water. then he started for centreford. as he was coming into the city he heard an automobile behind him. he steered to one side of the road to give the big car plenty of room to pass, but it did not come on as speedily as he thought it would. he looked back and saw that it was going to stop near him. accordingly he shut off the power of his machine. "is this the road to centreford?" asked one of the travelers in the auto. "straight ahead," answered the lad. at the sound of his voice one of the men in the big touring car leaned forward and whispered something to one on the front seat. the second man nodded, and looked closely at tom. the youth, in turn, stared at the men. he could not distinguish their faces, as they had on auto goggles. "how many miles is it?" asked the man who had whispered, and at the sound of his voice tom felt a vague sense that he had heard it before. "three," answered the young inventor, and once more he saw the men whisper among themselves. "thanks," spoke the driver of the car, and he threw in the gears. as the big machine darted ahead the goggles which one of the men wore slipped off. tom had a glimpse of his face. "anson morse!" he exclaimed. "if that isn't the man who was sneaking around dad's motor shop he's his twin brother! i wonder if those aren't the men who are after the patent model? i must be on my guard!" and tom, watching the car fade out of sight on the road ahead of him, slowly started his motor-cycle. he was much puzzled and alarmed. chapter xiii. caught in a storm the more tom tried to reason out the cause of the men's actions, the more he dwelt upon his encounter with the tramp, and the harder he endeavored to seek a solution of the queer puzzle, the more complicated it seemed. he rode on until he saw in a valley below him the buildings of the town of centreford, and, with a view of them, a new idea came into his mind. "i'll go get a good dinner," he decided, "and perhaps that will help me to think more clearly. that's what dad always does when he's puzzling over an invention." he was soon seated in a restaurant, where he ate a substantial dinner. "i'm just going to stop puzzling over this matter," he decided. "i'll push on to albany and tell the lawyer, mr. crawford. perhaps he can advise me." once this decision was made tom felt better. "that's just what i needed," he thought; "some one to shift the responsibility upon. i'll let the lawyers do the worrying. that's what they're paid for. now for albany, and i hope i don't have to stop, except for supper, until i get there. i've got to do some night riding, but i've got a powerful lamp, and the roads from now on are good." tom was soon on his way again. the highway leading to albany was a hard, macadam one, and he fairly flew along the level stretches. "this is making good time," he thought. "i won't be so very late, after all; that is, if nothing delays me." the young inventor looked up into the sky. the sun, which had been shining brightly all day, was now hidden behind a mass of hazy clouds, for which the rider was duly grateful, as it was becoming quite warm. "it's more like summer than i thought," said tom to himself. "i shouldn't be surprised if we got rain to-morrow." another look at the sky confirmed him in this belief, and he had not gone on many miles farther when his opinion was suddenly changed. this was brought about by a dull rumble in the west, and tom noticed that a bank of low-lying clouds had formed, the black, inky masses of vapor being whirled upward as if by some powerful blast. "guess my storm is going to arrive ahead of time," he said. "i'd better look for shelter." with a suddenness that characterizes summer showers, the whole sky became overcast. the thunder increased, and the flashes of lightning became more frequent and dazzling. a wind sprang up and blew clouds of dust in tom's face. "it certainly is going to be a thunder storm," he admitted. "i'm bound to be delayed now, for the roads will be mucky. well, there's no help for it. if i get to albany before midnight i'll be doing well." a few drops of rain splashed on his hands, and as he looked up to note the state of the sky others fell in his face. they were big drops, and where they splashed on the road they formed little globules of mud. "i'll head for that big tree," thought tom "it will give me some shelter. i'll wait there--" his words were interrupted by a deafening crash of thunder which followed close after a blinding flash. "no tree for mine!" murmured tom. "i forgot that they're dangerous in a storm. i wonder where i can stay?" he turned on all the power possible and sprinted ahead. around a curve in the road he went, leaning over to preserve his balance, and just as the rain came pelting down in a torrent he saw just ahead of him a white church on the lonely country road. to one side was a long shed, where the farmers were in the habit of leaving their teams when they came to service. "just the thing!" cried the boy; "and just in time!" he turned his motor-cycle into the yard surrounding the church, and a moment later had come to a stop beneath the shed. it was broad and long, furnishing a good protection against the storm, which had now burst in all its fury. tom was not very wet, and looking to see that the model, which was partly of wood, had suffered no damage, the lad gave his attention to his machine. "seems to be all right," he murmured. "i'll just oil her up while i'm waiting. this can't last long; it's raining too hard." he busied himself over the motor-cycle, adjusting a nut that had been rattled loose, and putting some oil on the bearings. the rain kept up steadily, and when he had completed his attentions to his machine tom looked out from under the protection of the shed. "it certainly is coming down for keeps," he murmured. "this trip is a regular hoodoo so far. hope i have it better coming back." as he looked down the road he espied an automobile coming through the mist of rain. it was an open car, and as he saw the three men in it huddled up under the insufficient protection of some blankets, tom said: "they'd ought to come in here. there's lots of room. maybe they don't see it. i'll call to them." the car was almost opposite the shed which was close to the roadside. tom was about to call when one of the men in the auto looked up. he saw the shelter and spoke to the chauffeur. the latter was preparing to steer up into the shed when the two men on the rear seat caught sight of tom. "why, that's the same car that passed me a while ago," said the young inventor half aloud. "the one that contained those men whom i suspected might be after dad's patent. i hope they--" he did not finish his sentence, for at that instant the chauffeur quickly swung the machine around and headed it back into the road. clearly the men were not going to take advantage of the shelter of the shed. "that's mighty strange," murmured tom. "they certainly saw me, and as soon as they did they turned away. can they be afraid of me?" he went to the edge of the shelter and peered out. the auto had disappeared down the road behind a veil of rain, and, shaking his head over the strange occurrence, tom went back to where he had left his motor-cycle. "things are getting more and more muddled," he said. "i'm sure those were the same men, and yet--" he shrugged his shoulders. the puzzle was getting beyond him. chapter xiv. attacked from behind steadily the rain came down, the wind driving it under the shed until tom was hard put to find a place where the drops would not reach him. he withdrew into a far corner, taking his motor-cycle with him, and then, sitting on a block of wood, under the rough mangers where the horses were fed while the farmers attended church, the lad thought over the situation. he could make little of it, and the more he tried the worse it seemed to become. he looked out across the wet landscape. "i wonder if this is ever going to stop?" he mused. "it looks as if it was in for an all-day pour, yet we ought only to have a summer shower by rights." "but then i guess what i think about it won't influence the weather man a bit. i might as well make myself comfortable, for i can't do anything. let's see. if i get to fordham by six o'clock i ought to be able to make albany by nine, as it's only forty miles. i'll get supper in fordham, and push on. that is, i will if the rain stops." that was the most necessary matter to have happen first, and tom arising from his seat strolled over to the front of the shed to look out. "i believe it is getting lighter in the west," he told himself. "yes, the clouds are lifting. it's going to clear. it's only a summer shower, after all." but just as he said that there came a sudden squall of wind and rain, fiercer than any which had preceded. tom was driven back to his seat on the log. it was quite chilly now, and he noticed that near where he sat there was a big opening in the rear of the shed, where a couple of boards were off. "this must be a draughty place in winter," he observed. "if i could find a drier spot i'd sit there, but this seems to be the best," and he remained there, musing on many things. suddenly in the midst of his thoughts he imagined he heard the sound of an automobile approaching. "i wonder if those men are coming back here?" he exclaimed. "if they are--" the youth again arose, and went to the front of the shed. he could see nothing, and came back to escape the rain. there was no doubt but that the shower would soon be over, and looking at his watch, tom began to calculate when he might arrive in albany. he was busy trying to figure out the best plan to pursue, and was hardly conscious of his surroundings. seated on the log, with his back to the opening in the shed, the young inventor could not see a figure stealthily creeping up through the wet grass. nor could he see an automobile, which had come to a stop back of the horse shelter--an automobile containing two rain-soaked men, who were anxiously watching the one stealing through the grass. tom put his watch back into his pocket and looked out into the storm. it was almost over. the sun was trying to shine through the clouds, and only a few drops were falling. the youth stretched with a yawn, for he was tired of sitting still. at the moment when he raised his arms to relieve his muscles something was thrust through the opening behind him. it was a long club, and an instant later it descended on the lad's head. he went down in a heap, limp and motionless. through the opening leaped a man. he bent over tom, looked anxiously at him, and then, stepping to the place where the boards were off the shed, he motioned to the men in the automobile. they hurried from the machine, and were soon beside their companion. "i knocked him out, all right," observed the man who had reached through and dealt tom the blow with the club. "knocked him out! i should say you did, featherton!" exclaimed one who appeared better dressed than the others. "have you killed him?" "no; but i wish you wouldn't mention my name, mr. appleson. i--i don't like--" "nonsense, featherton. no one can hear us. but i'm afraid you've done for the chap. i didn't want him harmed." "oh, i guess featherton knows how to do it, appleson," commented the third man. "he's had experience that way, eh, featherton?" "yes, mr. morse; but if you please i wish you wouldn't mention--" "all right, featherton, i know what you mean," rejoined the man addressed as morse. "now let's see if we have drawn a blank or not. i think he has with him the very thing we want." "doesn't seem to be about his person," observed appleson, as he carefully felt about the clothing of the unfortunate tom. "very likely not. it's too bulky. but there's his motor-cycle over there. it looks as if what we wanted was on the back of the saddle. jove, featherton, but i think he's coming to!" tom stirred uneasily and moved his arms, while a moan came from between his parted lips. "i've got some stuff that will fix him!" exclaimed the man addressed as featherton, and who had been operating the automobile. he took something from his pocket and leaned over tom. in a moment the young inventor was still again. "quick now, see if it's there," directed morse, and appleson hurried over to the machine. "here it is!" he called. "i'll take it to our car, and we can get away." "are you going to leave him here like this?" asked morse. "yes; why not?" "because some one might have seen him come in here, and also remember that we, too, came in this direction." "what would you do?" "take him down the road a way and leave him. we can find some shed near a farmhouse where he and his machine will be out of sight until we get far enough away. besides, i don't like to leave him so far from help, unconscious as he is." "oh, you're getting chicken-hearted," said appleson with a sneer. "however, have your way about it. i wonder what has become of jake burke? he was to meet us in centreford, but he did not show up." "oh, i shouldn't be surprised if he had trouble in that tramp rig he insisted on adopting. i told him he was running a risk, but he said he had masqueraded as a tramp before." "so he has. he's pretty good at it. now, simpson, if you will--" "not simpson! i thought you agreed to call me featherton," interrupted the chauffeur, turning to morse and appleson. "oh, so we did. i forgot that this lad met us one day, and heard me call you simpson," admitted morse. "well, featherton it shall be. but we haven't much time. it's stopped raining, and the roads will soon be well traveled. we must get away, and if we are to take the lad and his machine to some secluded place, we'd better be at it. no use waiting for burke. he can look out after himself. anyhow, we have the model now, and there's no use in him hanging around swift's shop, as he intended to do, waiting for a chance to sneak in after it. appleson, if you and simpson--i mean featherton--will carry young swift, i'll shove his wheel along to the auto, and we can put it and him in." the two men, first looking through the hole in the shed to make sure they were not observed, went out, carrying tom, who was no light load. morse followed them, pushing the motor-cycle, and carrying under one arm the bundle containing the valuable model, which he had detached. "i think this is the time we get ahead of mr. swift," murmured morse, pulling his black mustache, when he and his companions had reached the car in the field. "we have just what we want now." "yes, but we had hard enough work getting it," observed appleson. "only by luck we saw this lad come in here, or we would have had to chase all over for him, and maybe then we would have missed him. hurry, simpson--i mean featherton. it's getting late, and we've got lots to do." the chauffeur sprang to his seat, appleson taking his place beside him. the motor-cycle was tied on behind the big touring car, and with the unconscious form of tom in the tonneau, beside morse, who stroked his mustache nervously, the auto started off. the storm had passed, and the sun was shining brightly, but tom could not see it. chapter xv. a vain search several hours later tom had a curious dream. he imagined he was wandering about in the polar regions, and that it was very cold. he was trying to reason with himself that he could not possibly be on an expedition searching for the north pole, still he felt such a keen wind blowing over his scantily-covered body that he shivered. he shivered so hard, in fact, that he shivered himself awake, and when he tried to pierce the darkness that enveloped him he was startled, for a moment, with the idea that perhaps, after all, he had wandered off to some unknown country. for it was quite dark and cold. he was in a daze, and there was a curious smell about him--an odor that he tried to recall. then, all at once, it came to him what it was--chloroform. once his father had undergone an operation, and to deaden his pain chloroform had been used. "i've been chloroformed!" exclaimed the young inventor, and his words sounded strange in his ears. "that's it. i've met with an accident riding my motor-cycle. i must have hit my head, for it hurts fearful. they picked me up, carried me to a hospital and have operated on me. i wonder if they took off an arm or leg? i wonder what hospital i'm in? why is it so dark and cold?" as he asked himself these questions his brain gradually cleared from the haze caused by the cowardly blow, and from the chloroform that had been administered by featherton. tom's first act was to feel first of one arm, then the other. having satisfied himself that neither of these members were mutilated he reached down to his legs. "why, they're all right, too," he murmured. "i wonder what they did to me? that's certainly, chloroform i smell, and my head feels as if some one had sat on it. i wonder--" quickly he put up his hands to his head. there appeared to be nothing the matter with it, save that there was quite a lump on the back, where the club had struck. "i seem to be all here," went on tom, much mystified. "but where am i? that's the question. it's a funny hospital, so cold and dark--" just then his hands came in contact with the cold ground on which he was lying. "why, i'm outdoors!" he exclaimed. then in a flash it all came back to him--how he had gone to wait under the church shed until the rain was over. "i fell asleep, and now it's night," the youth went on. "no wonder i am sore and stiff. and that chloroform--" he could not account for that, and he paused, puzzled once more. then he struggled to a sitting position. his head was strangely dizzy, but he persisted, and got to his feet. he could see nothing, and groped around in the dark, until he thought to strike a match. fortunately he had a number in his pocket. as the little flame flared up tom started in surprise. "this isn't the church shed!" he exclaimed. "it's much smaller! i'm in a different place! great scott! but what has happened to me?" the match burned tom's fingers and he dropped it. the darkness closed in once more, but tom was used to it by this time, and looking ahead of him he could make out that the shed was an open one, similar to the one where he had taken shelter. he could see the sky studded with stars, and could feel the cold night wind blowing in. "my motor-cycle!" he exclaimed in alarm. "the model of dad's invention--the papers!" our hero thrust his hand into his pocket. the papers were gone! hurriedly he lighted another match. it took but an instant to glance rapidly about the small shed. his machine was not in sight! tom felt his heart sink. after all his precautions he had been robbed. the precious model was gone, and it had been his proposition to take it to albany in this manner. what would his father say? the lad lighted match after match, and made a rapid tour of the shed. the motor-cycle was not to be seen. but what puzzled tom more than anything else was how he had been brought from the church shed to the one where he had awakened from his stupor. "let me try to think," said the boy, speaking aloud, for it seemed to help him. "the last i remember is seeing that automobile, with those mysterious men in, approaching. then it disappeared in the rain. i thought i heard it again, but i couldn't see it. i was sitting on the log, and--and--well, that's all i can remember. i wonder if those men--" the young inventor paused. like a flash it came to him that the men were responsible for his predicament. they had somehow made him insensible, stolen his motor-cycle, the papers and the model, and then brought him to this place, wherever it was. tom was a shrewd reasoner, and he soon evolved a theory which he afterward learned was the correct one. he reasoned out almost every step in the crime of which he was the victim, and at last came to the conclusion that the men had stolen up behind the shed and attacked him. "now, the next question to settle," spoke tom, "is to learn where i am. how far did those scoundrels carry me, and what has become of my motor-cycle?" he walked toward the point of the shed where he could observe the stars gleaming, and there he lighted some more matches, hoping he might see his machine. by the gleam of the little flame he noted that he was in a farmyard, and he was just puzzling his brain over the question as to what city or town he might be near when he heard a voice shouting: "here, what you lightin' them matches for? you want to set the place afire? who be you, anyhow--a tramp?" it was unmistakably the voice of a farmer, and tom could hear footsteps approaching on the run. "who be you, anyhow?" the voice repeated. "i'll have the constable after you in a jiffy if you're a tramp." "i'm not a tramp," called tom promptly. "i've met with an accident. where am i?" "humph! mighty funny if you don't know where you are," commented the farmer. "jed, bring a lantern until i take a look at who this is." "all right, pop," answered another voice, and a moment later tom saw a tall man standing in front of him. "i'll give you a look at me without waiting for the lantern," said tom quickly, and he struck a match, holding it so that the gleam fell upon his face. "salt mackerel! it's a young feller!" exclaimed the farmer. "who be you, anyhow, and what you doin' here?" "that's just what i would like to know," said tom, passing his hand over his head, which was still paining him. "am i near albany? that's where i started for this morning." "albany? you're a good way from albany," replied the farmer. "you're in the village of dunkirk." "how far is that from centreford?" "about seventy miles." "as far as that?" cried tom. "they must have carried me a good way in their automobile." "was you in that automobile?" demanded the farmer. "which one?" asked tom quickly. "the one that stopped down the road just before supper. i see it, but i didn't pay no attention to it. if i'd 'a' knowed you fell out, though, i'd 'a' come to help you." "i didn't fall out, mr.--er--" tom paused. "blackford is my name; amos blackford." "well, mr. blackford, i didn't fall out. i was drugged and brought here." "drugged! salt mackerel! but there's been a crime committed, then. jed, hurry up with that lantern an' git your deputy sheriff's badge on. there's been druggin' an' all sorts of crimes committed. i've caught one of the victims. hurry up! my son's a deputy sheriff," he added, by way of an explanation. "then i hope he can help me catch the scoundrels who robbed me," said tom. "robbed you, did they? hurry up, jed. there's been a robbery! we'll rouse the neighborhood an' search for the villains. hurry up, jed!" "i'd rather find my motor-cycle, and a valuable model which was on it, than locate those men," went on tom. "they also took some papers from me." then he told how he had started for albany, adding his theory of how he had been attacked and carried away in the auto. the latter part of it was borne out by the testimony of mr. blackford. "what i know about it," said the farmer, when his son jed had arrived on the scene with a lantern and his badge, "is that jest about supper time i saw an automobile stop down the road a bit, it was gittin' dusk, an' i saw some men git out. i didn't pay no attention to them, 'cause i was busy about the milkin'. the next i knowed i seen some one strikin' matches in my wagon shed, an' i come out to see what it was." "the men must have brought me all the way from the church shed near centreford to here," declared tom. "then they lifted me out and put me in your shed. maybe they left my motor-cycle also." "i didn't see nothin' like that," said the farmer. "is that what you call one of them two-wheeled lickity-split things that a man sits on the middle of an' goes like chain-lightning?" "it is," said tom. "i wish you'd help me look for it." the farmer and his son agreed, and other lanterns having been secured, a search was made. after about half an hour the motor-cycle was discovered in some bushes at the side of the road, near where the automobile had stopped. but the model was missing from it, and a careful search near where the machine had been hidden did not reveal it. nor did as careful a hunt as they could make in the darkness disclose any clues to the scoundrels who had drugged and robbed tom. chapter xvi. back home "we've got to organize a regular searchin' party," declared jed blackford, after he and his father, together with tom and the farmer's hired man, had searched up and down the road by the light of lanterns. "we'll organize a posse an' have a regular hunt. this is the worst crime that's been committed in this deestrict in many years, an' i'm goin' to run the scoundrels to earth." "don't be talkin' nonsense, jed," interrupted his father. "you won't catch them fellers in a hundred years. they're miles an' miles away from here by this time in their automobile. all you can do is to notify the sheriff. i guess we'd better give this young man some attention. let's see, you said your name was quick, didn't you?" "no, but it's very similar," answered tom with a smile. "it's swift." "i knowed it was something had to do with speed," went on mr. blackford. "wa'al, now, s'pose you come in the house an' have a hot cup of tea. you look sort of draggled out." tom was glad enough to avail himself of the kind invitation, and he was soon in the comfortable kitchen, relating his story, with more detail, to the farmer and his family. mrs. blackford applied some home-made remedies to the lump on the youth's head, and it felt much better. "i'd like to take a look at my motor-cycle," he said, after his second cup of tea. "i want to see if those men damaged it any. if they have i'm going to have trouble getting back home to tell my father of my bad luck. poor dad! he will be very much worried when i tell him the model and his patent papers have been stolen." "it's too bad!" exclaimed mrs. blackford. "i wish i had hold of them scoundrels!" and her usually gentle face bore a severe frown. "of course you can have your thing-a-ma-bob in to see if it's hurt, but please don't start it in here. they make a terrible racket." "no, i'll look it over in the woodshed," promised tom. "if it's all right i think i'll start back home at once." "no, you can't do that," declared mr. blackford. "you're in no condition to travel. you might fall off an' git hurt. it's nearly ten o'clock now. you jest stay here all night, an' in the mornin', if you feel all right, you can start off. i couldn't let you go to-night." indeed, tom did not feel very much like undertaking the journey, for the blow on his head had made him dazed, and the chloroform caused a sick feeling. mr. blackford wheeled the motor-cycle into the woodhouse, which opened from the kitchen, and there the youth went over the machine. he was glad to find that it had sustained no damage. in the meanwhile jed had gone off to tell the startling news to near-by farmers. quite a throng, with lanterns, went up and down the road, but all the evidence they could find were the marks of the automobile wheels, which clues were not very satisfactory. "but we'll catch them in the mornin'," declared the deputy sheriff. "i'll know that automobile again if i see it. it was painted red." "that's the color of a number of automobiles," said tom with a smile. "i'm afraid you'll have trouble identifying it by that means. i am surprised, though, that they did not carry my motor-cycle away with them. it is a valuable machine." "they were afraid to," declared jed. "it would look queer to see a machine like that in an auto. of course when they were going along country roads in the evening it didn't much matter, but when they headed for the city, as they probably did, they knew it would attract suspicion to 'em. i know, for i've been a deputy sheriff 'most a year." "i believe you're right," agreed tom. "they didn't dare take the motor-cycle with them, but they hid it, hoping i would not find it. i'd rather have the model and the papers, though, than half a dozen motor-cycles." "maybe the police will help you find them," said mrs. blackford. "jed, you must telephone to the police the first thing in the morning. it's a shame the way criminals are allowed to go on. if honest people did those things, they'd be arrested in a minute, but it seems that scoundrels can do as they please." "you wait; i'll catch 'em!" declared jed confidently. "i'll organize another posse in the mornin'." "well, i know one thing, and that is that the place for this young man is in bed!" exclaimed motherly mrs. blackford, and she insisted on tom retiring. he was somewhat restless at first, and the thought of the loss of the model and the papers preyed on his mind. then, utterly exhausted, he sank into a heavy slumber, and did not awaken until the sun was shining in his window the next morning. a good breakfast made him feel somewhat better, and he was more like the resourceful tom swift of old when he went to get his motor-cycle in shape for the ride back to shopton. "well, i hope you find those criminals," said mr. blackford, as he watched tom oiling the machine. "if you're ever out this way again, stop off and see us." "yes, do," urged mrs. blackford, who was getting ready to churn. her husband looked at the old-fashioned barrel and dasher arrangement, which she was filling with cream. "what's the matter with the new churn?" he asked in some surprise. "it's broken," she replied. "it's always the way with those new-fangled things. it works ever so much nicer than this old one, though," she went on to tom, "but it gets out of order easy." "let me look at it," suggested the young inventor. "i know something about machinery." the churn, which worked by a system of cogs and a handle, was brought from the woodshed. tom soon saw what the trouble was. one of the cogs had become displaced. it did not take him five minutes, with the tools he carried on his motor-cycle, to put it back, and the churn was ready to use. "well, i declare!" exclaimed mrs. blackford. "you are handy at such things!" "oh, it's just a knack," replied tom modestly. "now i'll put a plug in there, and the cog wheel won't come loose again. the manufacturers of it ought to have done that. i imagine lots of people have this same trouble with these churns." "indeed they do," asserted mrs. blackford. "sallie armstrong has one, and it got out of order the first week they had it. i'll let her look at mine, and maybe her husband can fix it." "i'd go and do it myself, but i want to get home," said tom, and then he showed her how, by inserting a small iron plug in a certain place, there would be no danger of the cog coming loose again. "that's certainly slick!" exclaimed mr. blackford. "well, i wish you good luck, mr. swift, and if i see those scoundrels around this neighborhood again i'll make 'em wish they'd let you alone." "that's what," added jed, polishing his badge with his big, red handkerchief. mrs. blackford transferred the cream to the new churn which tom had fixed, and as he rode off down the highway on his motor-cycle, she waved one hand to him, while with the other she operated the handle of the apparatus. "now for a quick run to shopton to tell dad the bad news," spoke tom to himself as he turned on full speed and dashed away. "my trip has been a failure so far." chapter xvii. mr. swift in despair tom was thinking of many things as his speedy machine carried him mile after mile nearer home. by noon he was over half way on his journey, and he stopped in a small village for his dinner. "i think i'll make inquiries of the police here, to see if they caught sight of those men," decided tom as he left the restaurant. "though i am inclined to believe they kept on to albany, or some large city, where they have their headquarters. they will want to make use of dad's model as soon as possible, though what they will do with it i don't know." he tried to telephone to his father, but could get no connection, as the wire was being repaired. the police force of the place where tom had stopped for lunch was like the town itself--small and not of much consequence. the chief constable, for he was not what one could call a chief of police, had heard of the matter from the alarm sent out in all directions from dunkirk, where mr. blackford lived. "you don't mean to tell me you're the young man who was chloroformed and robbed!" exclaimed the constable, looking at tom as if he doubted his word. "i'm the young man," declared our hero. "have you seen anything of the thieves?" "not a thing, though i've instructed all my men to keep a sharp lookout for a red automobile, with three scoundrels in it. my men are to make an arrest on sight." "how many men have you?" "two," was the rather surprising answer; "but one has to work on a farm daytimes, so i ain't really got but one in what you might call active service." tom restrained a desire to laugh. at any rate, the aged constable meant well. "one of my men seen a red automobile, a little while before you come in my office," went on the official, "but it wasn't the one wanted, 'cause a young woman was running it all alone. it struck me as rather curious that a woman would trust herself all alone in one of them things; wouldn't it you?" "oh, no, women and young ladies often operate them," said tom. "i should think you'd find one handier than the two-wheeled apparatus you have out there," went on the constable, indicating the motor-cycle, which tom had stood up against a tree. "i may have one some day," replied the young inventor. "but i guess i'll be moving on now. here's my address, in case you hear anything of those men, but i don't imagine you will." "me either. fellows as slick as them are won't come back this way and run the chance of being arrested by my men. i have two on duty nights," he went on proudly, "besides myself, so you see we're pretty well protected." tom thanked him for the trouble he had taken, and was soon on his way again. he swept on along the quiet country roads anxious for the time when he could consult with his father over what would be the best course to take. when tom was about a mile away from his house he saw in the road ahead of him a rickety old wagon, and a second glance at it told him the outfit belonged to eradicate sampson, for the animal drawing the vehicle was none other than the mule, boomerang. "but what in the world is rad up to?" mused tom, for the colored man was out of the wagon and was going up and down in the grass at the side of the highway in a curious fashion. "i guess he's lost something," decided tom. when he got nearer he saw what eradicate was doing. the colored man was pushing a lawn-mower slowly to and fro in the tall, rank grass that grew beside the thoroughfare, and at the sound of tom's motor-cycle the negro looked up. there was such a woe-begone expression on his face that tom at once stopped his machine and got off. "what's the matter, rad?" tom asked. "mattah, mistah swift? why, dere's a pow'ful lot de mattah, an' dat's de truff. i'se been swindled, dat's what i has." "swindled? how?" "well, it's dis-a-way. yo' see dis yeah lawn-moah?" "yes; it doesn't seem to work," and tom glanced critically at it. as eradicate pushed it slowly to and fro, the blades did not revolve, and the wheels slipped along on the grass. "no, sah, it doan't work, an' dat's how i've been swindled, mistah swift. yo' see, i done traded mah ole grindstone off for dis yeah lawn-moah, an' i got stuck." "what, that old grindstone that was broken in two, and that you fastened together with concrete?" asked tom, for he had seen the outfit with which eradicate, in spare times between cleaning and whitewashing, had gone about the country, sharpening knives and scissors. "you don't mean that old, broken one?" "dat's what i mean, mistah swift. why, it was all right. i mended it so dat de break wouldn't show, an' it would sharpen things if yo' run it slow. but dis yeah lawn-moah won't wuk slow ner fast." "i guess it was an even exchange, then," went on tom. "you didn't get bitten any worse than the other fellow did." "yo' doan't s'pose yo' kin fix dis yeah moah so's i kin use it, does yo', mistah swift?" asked eradicate, not bothering to go into the ethics of the matter. "i reckon now with summah comin' on i kin make mo' with a lawn-moah than i kin with a grindstone--dat is, ef i kin git it to wuk. i jest got it a while ago an' decided to try it, but it won't cut no grass." "i haven't much time," said tom, "for i'm anxious to get home, but i'll take a look at it." tom leaned his motor-cycle against the fence. he could no more pass a bit of broken machinery, which he thought he could mend, than some men and boys can pass by a baseball game without stopping to watch it, no matter how pressed they are for time. it was tom's hobby, and he delighted in nothing so much as tinkering with machines, from lawn-mowers to steam engines. tom took hold of the handle, which eradicate gladly relinquished to him, and his trained touch told him at once what was the trouble. "some one has had the wheels off and put them on wrong, rad," he said. "the ratchet and pawl are reversed. this mower would work backwards, if that were possible." "am dat so, mistah swift?" "that's it. all i have to do is to take off the wheels and reverse the pawl." "i--i didn't know mah lawn-moah was named paul," said the colored man. "is it writ on it anywhere?" "no, it's not the kind of paul you mean," said tom with a laugh. "it's spelled differently. a pawl is a sort of catch that fits into a ratchet wheel and pushes it around, or it may be used as a catch to prevent the backward motion of a windlass or the wheel on a derrick. i'll have it fixed in a jiffy for you." tom worked rapidly. with a monkey-wrench he removed the two big wheels of the lawn-mower and reversed the pawl in the cogs. in five minutes he had replaced the wheels, and the machine, except for needed sharpening, did good work. "there you are, rad!" exclaimed tom at length. "yo' suah am a wonder at inventin'!" cried the colored man gratefully. "i'll cut yo' grass all summah fo' yo' to pay fo' this, mistah swift." "oh, that's too much. i didn't do a great deal, rad." "well, yo' saved me from bein' swindled, mistah swift, an' i suah does 'preciate dat." "how about the fellow you traded the cracked grindstone to, rad?" "oh, well, ef he done run it slow it won't fly apart, an' he'll do dat, anyhow, fo' he suah am a lazy coon. i guess we am about even there, mistah swift." "all right," spoke tom with a laugh. "sharpen it up, rad, and start in to cut grass. it will soon be summer," and tom, leaping upon his motor-cycle, was off like a shot. he found his father in his library, reading a book on scientific matters. mr. swift looked up in surprise at seeing his son. "what! back so soon?" he asked. "you did make a flying trip. did you give the model and papers to mr. crawford?" "no, dad, i was robbed yesterday. those scoundrels got ahead of us, after all. they have your model. i tried to telephone to you, but the wires were down, or something." "what!" cried mr. swift. "oh, tom! that's too bad! i will lose ten thousand dollars if i can't get that model and those papers back!" and with a despairing gesture mr. swift rose and began to pace the floor. chapter xviii. happy harry again tom watched his father anxiously. the young inventor knew the loss had been a heavy one, and he blamed himself for not having been more careful. "tell me all about it, tom," said mr. swift at length. "are you sure the model and papers are gone? how did it happen?" then tom related what had befallen him. "oh, that's too bad!" cried mr. swift. "are you much hurt, tom? shall i send for the doctor?" for the time being his anxiety over his son was greater than that concerning his loss. "no, indeed, dad. i'm all right now. i got a bad blow on the head, but mrs. blackford fixed me up. i'm awfully sorry---" "there, there! now don't say another word," interrupted mr. swift. "it wasn't your fault. it might have happened to me. i dare say it would, for those scoundrels seemed very determined. they are desperate, and will stop at nothing to make good the loss they sustained on the patent motor they exploited. now they will probably try to make use of my model and papers." "do you think they'll do that, dad?" "yes. they will either make a motor exactly like mine, or construct one so nearly similar that it will answer their purpose. i will have no redress against them, as my patent is not fully granted yet. mr. crawford was to attend to that." "can't you do anything to stop them, dad? file an injunction, or something like that?" "i don't know. i must see mr. crawford at once. i wonder if he could come here? he might be able to advise me. i have had very little experience with legal difficulties. my specialty is in other lines of work. but i must do something. every moment is valuable. i wonder who the men were?" "i'm sure one of them was the same man who came here that night--the man with the black mustache, who dropped the telegram," said tom. "i had a pretty good look at him as the auto passed me, and i'm sure it was he. of course i didn't see who it was that struck me down, but i imagine it was some one of the same gang." "very likely. well, tom, i must do something. i suppose i might telegraph to mr. crawford--he will be expecting you in albany--" mr. swift paused musingly. "no, i have it!" he suddenly exclaimed. "i'll go to albany myself." "go to albany, dad?" "yes; i must explain everything to the lawyers and then he can advise me what to do. fortunately i have some papers, duplicates of those you took, which i can show him. of course the originals will be necessary before i can prove my claim. the loss of the model is the most severe, however. without that i can do little. but i will have mr. crawford take whatever steps are possible. i'll take the night train, tom. i'll have to leave you to look after matters here, and i needn't caution you to be on your guard, though, having got what they were after, i fancy those financiers, or their tools, will not bother us again." "very likely not," agreed tom, "but i will keep my eyes open, just the same. oh, but that reminds me, dad. did you see anything of a tramp around here while i was away?" "a tramp? no; but you had better ask mrs. baggert. she usually attends to them. she's so kind-hearted that she frequently gives them a good meal." the housekeeper, when consulted, said that no tramps had applied in the last few days. "why do you ask, tom?" inquired his father. "because i had an experience with one, and i believe he was a member of the same gang who robbed me." and thereupon tom told of his encounter with happy harry, and how the latter had broken the wire on the motor-cycle. "you had a narrow escape," commented mr. swift. "if i had known the dangers involved i would never have allowed you to take the model to albany." "well, i didn't take it there, after all," said tom with a grim smile, for he could appreciate a joke. "i must hurry and pack my valise," went on mr. swift. "mrs. baggert, we will have an early supper, and i will start at once for albany." "i wish i could go with you, dad, to make up for the trouble i caused," spoke tom. "tut, tut! don't talk that way," advised his father kindly. "i will be glad of the trip. it will ease my mind to be doing something." tom felt rather lonesome after his father had left, but he laid out a plan of action for himself that he thought would keep him occupied until his father returned. in the first place he made a tour of the house and various machine shops to see that doors and windows were securely fastened. "what's the matter? do you expect burglars, master tom?" asked garret jackson, the aged engineer. "well, garret, you never can tell," replied the young inventor, as he told of his experience and the necessity for mr. swift going to albany. "some of those scoundrels, finding how easy it was to rob me, may try it again, and get some at dad's other valuable models. i'm taking no chances." "that's right, master tom. i'll keep steam up in the boiler to-night, though we don't really need it, as your father told me you would probably not run any machinery when he was gone. but with a good head of steam up, and a hose handy, i can give any burglars a hot reception. i almost wish they'd come, so i could get square with them." "i don't, garret. well, i guess everything is in good shape. if you hear anything unusual, or the alarm goes off during the night, call me." "i will, master tom," and the old engineer, who had a living-room in a shack adjoining the boiler-room, locked the door after tom left. the young inventor spent the early evening in attaching a new wire to his motor-cycle to replace the one he had purchased while on his disastrous trip. the temporary one was not just the proper thing, though it answered well enough. then, having done some work on a new boat propeller he was contemplating patenting, tom felt that it was time to go to bed, as he was tired. he made a second round of the house, looking to doors and windows, until mrs. baggert exclaimed: "oh, tom, do stop! you make me nervous, going around that way. i'm sure i shan't sleep a wink to-night, thinking of burglars and tramps." tom laughingly desisted, and went up to his room. he sat up a few minutes, writing a letter to a girl of his acquaintance, for, in spite of the fact that the young inventor was very busy with his own and his father's work, he found time for lighter pleasures. then, as his eyes seemed determined to close of their own accord, if he did not let them, he tumbled into bed. tom fancied it was nearly morning when he suddenly awoke with a start. he heard a noise, and at first he could not locate it. then his trained ear traced it to the dining-room. "why, mrs. baggert must be getting breakfast, and is rattling the dishes," he thought. "but why is she up so early?" it was quite dark in tom's room, save for a little gleam from the crescent moon, and by the light of this tom arose and looked at his watch. "two o'clock," he whispered. "that can't be mrs. baggert, unless she's sick, and got up to take some medicine." he listened intently. below, in the dining-room, he could hear stealthy movements. "mrs. baggert would never move around like that," he decided. "she's too heavy. i wonder--it's a burglar--one of the gang has gotten in!" he exclaimed in tense tones. "i'm going to catch him at it!" hurriedly he slipped on some clothes, and then, having softly turned on the electric light in his room, he took from a corner a small rifle, which he made sure was loaded. then, having taken a small electric flashlight, of the kind used by police men, and sometimes by burglars, he started on tiptoe toward the lower floor. as tom softly descended the stairs he could more plainly hear the movements of the intruder. he made out now that the burglar was in mr. swift's study, which opened from the dining-room. "he's after dad's papers!" thought tom. "i wonder which one this is?" the youth had often gone hunting in the woods, and he knew how to approach cautiously. thus he was able to reach the door of the dining-room without being detected. he had no need to flash his light, for the intruder was doing that so frequently with one he carried that tom could see him perfectly. the fellow was working at the safe in which mr. swift kept his more valuable papers. softly, very softly tom brought his rifle to bear on the back of the thief. then, holding the weapon with one hand, for it was very light, tom extended the electric flash, so that the glare would be thrown on the intruder and would leave his own person in the black shadows. pressing the spring which caused the lantern to throw out a powerful glow, tom focused the rays on the kneeling man. "that will be about all!" the youth exclaimed in as steady a voice as he could manage. the burglar turned like a flash, and tom had a glimpse of his face. it was the tramp--happy harry--whom he had encountered on the lonely road. chapter xix. tom on a hunt tom held his rifle in readiness, though he only intended it as a means of intimidation, and would not have fired at the burglar except to save his own life. but the sight of the weapon was enough for the tramp. he crouched motionless. his own light had gone out, but by the gleam of the electric he carried tom could see that the man had in his hand some tool with which he had been endeavoring to force the safe. "i guess you've got me!" exclaimed the intruder, and there was in his tones no trace of the tramp dialect. "it looks like it," agreed tom grimly. "are you a tramp now, or in some other disguise?" "can't you see?" asked the fellow sullenly, and then tom did notice that the man still had on his tramp make-up. "what do you want?" asked tom. "hard to tell," replied the burglar calmly. "i hadn't got the safe open before you came down and disturbed me. i'm after money, naturally." "no, you're not!" exclaimed tom. "what's that?" and the man seemed surprised. "no, you're not!" went on tom, and he held his rifle in readiness. "you're after the patent papers and the model of the turbine motor. but it's gone. your confederates got it away from me. they probably haven't told you yet, and you're still on the hunt for it. you'll not get it, but i've got you." "so i see," admitted happy harry, and he spoke with some culture. "if you don't mind," he went on, "would you just as soon move that gun a little? it's pointing right at my head, and it might go off." "it is going off--very soon!" exclaimed tom grimly, and the tramp started in alarm. "oh, i'm not going to shoot you," continued the young inventor. "i'm going to fire this as an alarm, and the engineer will come in here and tie you up. then i'm going to hand you over to the police. this rifle is a repeater, and i am a pretty good shot. i'm going to fire once now, to summon assistance, and if you try to get away i'll be ready to fire a second time, and that won't be so comfortable for you. i've caught you, and i'm going to hold on to you until i get that model and those papers back." "oh, you are, eh?" asked the burglar calmly. "well, all i've got to say is that you have grit. go ahead. i'm caught good and proper. i was foolish to come in here, but i thought i'd take a chance." "who are you, anyhow? who are the men working with you to defraud my father of his rights?" asked tom somewhat bitterly. "i'll never tell you," answered the burglar. "i was hired to do certain work, and that's all there is to it. i'm not going to peach on my pals." "we'll see about that!" burst out tom. then he noticed that a dining-room window behind where the burglar was kneeling was open. doubtless the intruder had entered that way, and intended to escape in the same manner. "i'm going to shoot," announced tom, and, aiming his rifle at the open window, where the bullet would do no damage, he pressed the trigger. he noticed that the burglar was crouching low down on the floor, but tom thought nothing of this at the time. he imagined that happy harry--or whatever his name was--might be afraid of getting hit. there was a flash of fire and a deafening report as tom fired. the cloud of smoke obscured his vision for a moment, and as the echoes died away tom could hear mrs. baggert screaming in her room. "it's all right!" cried the young inventor reassuringly. "no one is hurt, mrs. baggert!" then he flashed his light on the spot where the burglar had crouched. as the smoke rolled away tom peered in vain for a sight of the intruder. happy harry was gone! holding his rifle in readiness, in case he should be attacked from some unexpected quarter, tom strode forward. he flashed his light in every direction. there was no doubt about it. the intruder had fled. taking advantage of the noise when the gun was fired, and under cover of the smoke, the burglar had leaped from the open window. tom guessed as much. he hurried to the casement and peered out, at the same time noticing the cut wire of the burglar alarm. it was quite dark, and he fancied he could hear the noise of some one running rapidly. aiming his rifle into the air, he fired again, at the same time crying out: "hold on!" "all right, master tom, i'm coming!" called the voice of the engineer from his shack. "are you hurt? is mrs. baggert murdered? i hear her screaming." "that's pretty good evidence that she isn't murdered," said tom with a grim smile. "are you hurt?" again called mr. jackson. "no, i'm all right," answered tom. "did you see any one running away as you came up?" "no, master tom, i didn't. what happened?" "a burglar got in, and i had him cornered, but he got away when i fired to arouse you." by this time the engineer was at the stoop, on which the window opened. tom unlocked a side door and admitted mr. jackson, and then, the incandescent light having been turned on, the two looked around the apartment. nothing in it had been disturbed, and the safe had not been opened. "i heard him just in time," commented tom, telling the engineer what had happened. "i wish i had thought to get between him and the window. then he couldn't have gotten away." "he might have injured you, though," said mr. jackson. "we'll go outside now, and look--" "is any one killed? are you both murdered?" cried mrs. baggert at the dining-room door. "if any one is killed i'm not coming in there. i can't bear the sight of blood." "no one is hurt," declared tom with a laugh. "come on in, mrs. baggert," and the housekeeper entered, her hair all done up in curl papers. "oh, my goodness me!" she exclaimed. "when i heard that cannon go off i was sure the house was coming down. how is it some one wasn't killed?" "that wasn't a cannon; it was only my little rifle," said tom, and then he told again, for the benefit of the housekeeper, the story of what had happened. "we'd better hurry and look around the premises," suggested mr. jackson. "maybe he is hiding, and will come back, or perhaps he has some confederates on the watch." "not much danger of that," declared tom. "happy harry is far enough away from here now, and so are his confederates, if he had any, which i doubt. still, it will do no harm to take a look around." a search resulted in nothing, however, and the swift household had soon settled down again, though no one slept soundly during the remainder of the night. in the morning tom sent word of what had happened to the police of shopton. some officers came out to the house, but, beyond looking wisely at the window by which the burglar had entered and at some footprints in the garden, they could do nothing. tom wanted to go off on his motor-cycle on a tour of the surrounding neighborhood to see if he could get any clues, but he did not think it would be wise in the absence of his father. he thought it would be better to remain at home, in case any further efforts were made to get possession of valuable models or papers. "there's not much likelihood of that, though," said tom to the old engineer. "those fellows have what they want, and are not going to bother us again. i would like to get that model back for dad, though. if they file it and take out a patent, even if he can prove that it is his, it will mean a long lawsuit and he may be defrauded of his rights, after all. possession is nine points of the law, and part of the tenth, too, i guess." so tom remained at home and busied himself as well as he could over some new machines he was constructing. he got a telegram from his father that afternoon, stating that mr. swift had safely arrived in albany, and would return the following day. "did you have any luck, dad?" asked the young inventor, when his father, tired and worn from the unaccustomed traveling, reached home in the evening. "not much, tom," was the reply. "mr. crawford has gone back to washington, and he is going to do what he can to prevent those men taking advantage of me." "did you get any trace of the thieves? does mr. crawford think he can?" "no to both questions. his idea is that the men will remain in hiding for a while, and then, when the matter has quieted down, they will proceed to get a patent on the motor that i invented." "but, in the meanwhile, can't you make another model and get a patent yourself?" "no; there are certain legal difficulties in the way. besides, those men have the original papers i need. as for the model, it will take me nearly a year to build a new one that will work properly, as it is very complicated. i am afraid, tom, that all my labor on the turbine motor is thrown away. those scoundrels will reap the benefit of it." "oh, i hope not, dad! i'm sure those fellows will be caught. now that you are back home again, i'm going out on a hunt on my own account. i don't put much faith in the police. it was through me, dad, that you lost your model and the papers, and i'll get them back!" "no, you must not think it was your fault, tom," said his father. "you could not help it, though i appreciate your desire to recover the missing model." "and i'll do it, too, dad. i'll start to-morrow, and i'll make a complete circuit of the country for a hundred miles around. i can easily do it on my motor-cycle. if i can't get on the trail of the three men who robbed me, maybe i can find happy harry." "i doubt it, my son. still, you may try. now i must write to mr. crawford and tell him about the attempted burglary while i was away. it may give him a clue to work on. i'm afraid you ran quite a risk, tom." "i didn't think about that, dad. i only wish i had managed to keep that rascal a prisoner." the next day tom started off on a hunt. he planned to be gone overnight, as he intended to go first to dunkirk, where mr. blackford lived, and begin his search from there. chapter xx. eradicate saws wood the farmer's family, including the son who was a deputy sheriff, was glad to see tom. jed said he had "been on the job" ever since the mysterious robbery of tom had taken place, but though he had seen many red automobiles he had no trace of the three men. from dunkirk tom went back over the route he had taken in going from pompville to centreford, and made some inquiries in the neighborhood of the church shed, where he had taken shelter. the locality was sparsely settled, however, and no one could give any clues to the robbers. the young inventor next made a trip over the lonely, sandy road, where he had met with the tramp, happy harry. but there were even fewer houses near that stretch than around the church, so he got no satisfaction there. tom spent the night at a country inn, and resumed his search the next morning, but with no results. the men had apparently completely disappeared, leaving no traces behind them. "i may as well go home," thought tom, as he was riding his motor-cycle along a pleasant country road. "dad may be worried, and perhaps something has turned up in shopton that will aid me. if there isn't, i'm going to start out again in a few days in another direction." there was no news in shopton, however. tom found his father scarcely able to work, so worried was he over the loss of his most important invention. two weeks passed, the young machinist taking trips of several days' duration to different points near his home, in the hope of discovering something. but he was unsuccessful, and, in the meanwhile, no reassuring word was received from the lawyers in washington. mr. crawford wrote that no move had yet been made by the thieves to take out patent papers, and while this, in a sense, was some aid to mr. swift, still he could not proceed on his own account to protect his new motor. all that could be done was to await the first movement on the part of the scoundrels. "i think i'll try a new plan to-morrow, dad," announced tom one night, when he and his father had talked over again, for perhaps the twentieth time, the happenings of the last few weeks. "what is it, tom?" asked the inventor. "well, i think i'll take a week's trip on my machine. i'll visit all the small towns around here, but, instead of asking in houses for news of the tramp or his confederates, i'll go to the police and constables. i'll ask if they have arrested any tramps recently, and, if they have, i'll ask them to let me see the 'hobo' prisoners." "what good will that do?" "i'll tell you. i have an idea that though the burglar who got in here may not be a regular tramp, yet he disguises himself like one at times, and may be known to other tramps. if i can get on the trail of happy harry, as he calls himself, i may locate the other men. tramps would be very likely to remember such a peculiar chap as happy harry, and they will tell me where they had last seen him. then i will have a starting point." "well, that may be a good plan," assented mr. swift. "at any rate it will do no harm to try. a tramp locked up in a country police station will very likely be willing to talk. go ahead with that scheme, tom, but don't get into any danger. how long will you be away?" "i don't know. a week, perhaps; maybe longer. i'll take plenty of money with me, and stop at country hotels overnight." tom lost no time in putting his plan into execution. he packed some clothes in a grip, which he attached to the rear of his motor-cycle, and then having said good-by to his father, started off. the first three days he met with no success. he located several tramps in country lock-ups, where they had been sent for begging or loitering, but none of them knew happy harry or had ever heard of a tramp answering his description. "he ain't one of us, youse can make up your mind to dat," said one "hobo" whom tom interviewed. "no real knight of de highway goes around in a disguise. we leaves dat for de story-book detectives. i'm de real article, i am, an' i don't know happy harry. but, fer dat matter, any of us is happy enough in de summer time, if we don't strike a burgh like dis, where dey jugs you fer panhandlin'." in general, tom found the tramp willing enough to answer his questions, though some were sullen, and returned only surly growls to his inquiries. "i guess i'll have to give it up and go back home," he decided one night. but there was a small town, not many miles from shopton, which he had not yet visited, and he resolved to try there before returning. accordingly, the next morning found him inquiring of the police authorities in meadton. but no tramps had been arrested in the last month, and no one had seen anything of a tramp like happy harry or three mysterious men in an automobile. tom was beginning to despair. riding along a silent road, that passed through a strip of woods, he was trying to think of some new line of procedure, when the silence of the highway, that, hitherto, had resounded only with the muffled explosions of his machine, was broken by several exclamations. "now, boomerang, yo' might jest as well start now as later," tom heard a voice saying--a voice he recognized well. "yo' hab got t' do dis yeah wuk, an' dere ain't no gittin' out ob it. dis yeah wood am got to be sawed, an' yo' hab got to saw it. but it am jest laik yo' to go back on yo' ole friend eradicate in dis yeah fashion. i neber could tell what yo' were gwine t' do next, an' i cain't now. g'lang, now, won't yo'? let's git dis yeah sawmill started." tom shut off the power and leaped from his wheel. from the woods at his left came the protesting "hee-haw" of a mule. "boomerang and eradicate sampson!" exclaimed the young inventor. "what can they be doing here?" he leaned his motor-cycle against the fence and advanced toward where he had heard the voice of the colored man. in a little clearing he saw him. eradicate was presiding over a portable sawmill, worked by a treadmill, on the incline of which was the mule, its ears laid back, and an unmistakable expression of anger on its face. "why, rad, what are you doing?" cried tom. "good land o' massy! ef it ain't young mistah swift!" cried the darky. "howdy, mistah swift! howdy! i'm jest tryin' t' saw some wood, t' make a livin', but boomerang he doan't seem t' want t' lib," and with that eradicate looked reproachfully at the animal. "what seems to be the trouble, and how did you come to own this sawmill?" asked tom. "i'll tell yo', mistah swift, i'll tell yo'," spoke eradicate. "sit right yeah on dis log, an' i'll explanation it to yo'." "the last time i saw you, you were preparing to go into the grass-cutting business," went on tom. "yais, sah! dat's right. so i was. yo' has got a memory, yo' suah has. but it am dis yeah way. grass ain't growin' quick enough, an' so i traded off dat lawn-moah an' bought dis yeah mill. but now it won't go, an' i suah am in trouble," and once more eradicate sampson looked indignantly at boomerang. chapter xxi. eradicate gives a clue "tell me all about it," urged tom sympathetically, for he had a friendly feeling toward the aged darky. "well," began eradicate, "i suah thought i were gwine to make money cuttin' grass, 'specially after yo' done fixed mah moah. but 'peared laik nobody wanted any grass cut. i trabeled all ober, an' i couldn't git no jobs. now me an' boomerang has to eat, no mattah ef he is contrary, so i had t' look fo' some new wuk. i traded dat lawn-moah off fo' a cross-cut saw, but dat was such hard wuk dat i gib it up. den i got a chance to buy dis yeah outfit cheap, an' i bought it." eradicate then went on to tell how he had purchased the portable sawmill from a man who had no further use for it, and how he had managed to transport it from a distant village to the spot where tom had met him. there he had secured permission to work a piece of woodland on shares, sawing up the smaller trees into cord wood. he had started in well enough, cutting down considerable timber, for the colored man was a willing worker, but when he tried to start his mill he met with trouble. "i counted on boomerang helpin' me," he said to tom. "all he has to do is walk on dat tread mill, an' keep goin'. dat makes de saw go 'round, an' i saws de wood. but de trouble am dat i can't git boomerang to move. i done tried ebery means i knows on, an' he won't go. i talked kind to him, an' i talked harsh. i done beat him wif a club, an' i rub his ears soft laik, an' he allers did laik dat, but he won't go. i fed him on carrots an' i gib him sugar, an' i eben starve him, but he won't go. heah i been tryin' fo' three days now t' git him started, an' not a stick hab i sawed. de man what i'm wukin' wif on shares he git mad, an' he say ef i doan't saw wood pretty soon he gwine t' git annuder mill heah. now i axes yo' fair, mistah swift, ain't i got lots ob trouble?" "you certainly seem to have," agreed tom "but why is boomerang so obstinate? usually on a treadmill a horse or a mule has to work whether they like it or not. if they don't keep moving the platform slides out from under them, and they come up against the back bar." "dat's what done happened to boomerang," declared eradicate. "he done back up against de bar, an' dere he stay." tom went over and looked at the mill. the outfit was an old one, and had seen much service, but the trained eye of the young inventor saw that it could still be used effectively. boomerang watched tom, as though aware that something unusual was about to happen. "heah i done gone an' 'vested mah money in dis yeah mill," complained eradicate, "an' i ain't sawed up a single stick. ef i wasn't so kind-hearted i'd chastise dat mule wuss dan i has, dat's what i would." tom said nothing. he was stooping down, looking at the gearing that connected the tread mill with the shaft which revolved the saw. suddenly he uttered an exclamation, "rad, have you been monkeying with this machinery?" he asked. "me? good land, mistah swift, no, sah! i wouldn't tech it. it's jest as i got it from de man i bought it off. it worked when he had it, but he used a hoss. it's all due to de contrariness ob boomerang, an' if i--" "no, it isn't the mule's fault at all!" exclaimed tom. "the mill is out of gear, and tread is locked; that's all. the man you bought it off probably did it so you could haul it along the road. i'll have it fixed for you in a few minutes. wait until i get some tools." from the bag on his motor-cycle tom got his implements. he first unlocked the treadmill, so that the inclined platform, on which the animal slowly walked, could revolve. no sooner had he done this than boomerang, feeling the slats under his hoofs moving away, started forward. with a rattle the treadmill slid around. "good land o' massy! it's goin'!" cried eradicate delightedly. "it suah am goin'!" he added as he saw the mule, with nimble feet, send the revolving, endless string of slats around and around. "but de saw doan't move, mistah swift. yo' am pretty smart at fixin' it as much as yo' has, but i reckon it's too busted t' eber saw any wood. i'se got bad luck, dat's what i has." "nonsense!" exclaimed tom. "the sawmill will be going in a moment. all i have to do is to throw it into gear. see here, rad. when you want the saw to go you just throw this handle forward. that makes the gears mesh." "what's dat 'bout mush?" asked eradicate. "mesh--not mush. i mean it makes the cogs fit together. see," and tom pressed the lever. in an instant, with a musical whirr, the saw began revolving. "hurrah! dere it goes! golly! see de saw move!" cried the delighted colored man. he seized a stick of wood, and in a trice it was sawed through. "whoop!" yelled eradicate. "i'm sabed now! bless yo', mistah swift, yo' suttinly am a wondah!" "now i'll show you how it works," went on tom. "when you want to stop boomerang, you just pull this handle. that locks the tread, and he can't move it," and, suiting the action to his words, tom stopped the mill. "then," he went on, "when you want him to move, you pull the handle this way," and he showed the darky how to do it. in a moment the mule was moving again. then tom illustrated how to throw the saw in and out of gear, and in a few minutes the sawmill was in full operation, with a most energetic colored man feeding in logs to be cut up into stove lengths. "you ought to have an assistant, rad," said tom, after he had watched the work for a while. "you could get more done then, and move on to some other wood-patch." "dat's right, mistah swift, so i had. but i 'done tried, an' couldn't git any. i ast seberal colored men, but dey'd radder whitewash an' clean chicken coops. i guess i'll hab t' go it alone. i ast a white man yisterday ef he wouldn't like t' pitch in an' help, but he said he didn't like to wuk. he was a tramp, an' he had de nerve to ask me fer money--me, a hard-wukin' coon." "you didn't give it to him, i hope." "no, indeedy, but he come so close to me dat i was askeered he might take it from me, so i kept hold ob a club. he suah was a bad-lookin' tramp, an' he kept laffin' all de while, like he was happy." "what's that?" cried tom, struck by the words of the colored man. "did he have a thick, brown beard?" "dat's what he had," answered eradicate, pausing in the midst of his work. "he suah were a funny sort ob tramp. his hands done looked laik he neber wuked, an' he had a funny blue ring one finger, only it wasn't a reg'lar ring, yo' know. it was pushed right inter his skin, laik a man i seen at de circus once, all cobered wid funny figgers." tom leaped to his feet. "which finger was the blue ring tattooed on?" he asked, and he waited anxiously for the answer. "let me see, it were on de right--no, it were on de little finger ob de left hand." "are you sure, rad?" "suah, mistah swift. i took 'tic'lar notice, 'cause he carried a stick in dat same hand." "it must be my man--happy harry!" exclaimed tom half aloud. "which way did he go, rad, after he left you?" "he went up de lake shore," replied the colored man. "he asked me if i knowed ob an ole big house up dere, what nobody libed in, an' i said i did. den he left, an' i were glad ob it." "which house did you mean, rad?" "why, dat ole mansion what general harkness used t' lib in befo' de wah. dere ain't nobody libed in it fo' some years now, an' it's deserted. maybe a lot ob tramps stays in it, an' dat's where dis man were goin'." "maybe," assented tom, who was all excitement now. "just where is this old house, rad?" "away up at de head ob lake carlopa. i uster wuk dere befo' de wah, but it's been a good many years since quality folks libed dere. why, did yo' want t' see dat man, mistah swift?" "yes, rad, i did, and very badly, too. i think he is the very person i want. but don't say anything about it. i'm going to take a trip up to that strange mansion. maybe i'll get on the trail of happy harry and the men who robbed me. i'm much obliged to you, rad, for this information. it's a good clue, i think. strange that you should meet the very tramp i've been searching for." "well, i suah am obliged to yo', mistah swift, fo' fixin' mah sawmill." "that's all right. what you told me more than pays for what i did, rad. well, i'm going home now to tell dad, and then i'm going to start out. yesterday, you said it was, you saw happy harry? well, i'll get right after him," and leaving a somewhat surprised, but very much delighted, colored man behind him, tom mounted his motor-cycle and started for home at a fast pace. chapter xxii. the strange mansion "dad, i've got a clue!" exclaimed tom, hurrying into the house late that afternoon, following a quick trip from where he had met eradicate with his sawmill. "a good clue, and i'm going to start early in the morning to run it down." "wait a minute, now, tom," cautioned his father slowly. "you know what happens when you get excited. nothing good was ever done in a hurry." "well, i can't help being excited, dad. i think i'm on the trail of those scoundrels. i almost wish i could start to-night." "suppose you tell me all about it," and mr. swift laid aside a scientific book he was reading. whereupon tom told of his meeting with the colored man, and what eradicate had said about the tramp. "but he may not be the same happy harry you are looking for," interposed mr. swift. "tramps who don't like to work, and who have a jolly disposition, also those who ask for money and have designs tattooed on their hands, are very common." "oh, but i'm sure this is the same one," declared tom. "he wants to stay in this neighborhood until he locates his confederates. that's why he's hanging around. now i have an idea that the deserted mansion, where eradicate used to work, and which once housed general harkness and his family, is the rendezvous of this gang of thieves." "you are taking a great deal for granted, tom." "i don't think so, dad. i've got to assume something, and maybe i'm wrong, but i don't think so. at any rate, i'm going to try, if you'll let me." "what do you mean to do?" "i want to go to that deserted mansion and see what i can find. if i locate the thieves, well--" "you may run into danger." "then you admit i may be on the right track, dad?" "not at all," and mr. swift smiled at the quick manner in which tom turned the tables on him. "i admit there may be a band of tramps in that house. very likely there is--almost any deserted place would be attractive to them. but they may not be the ones you seek. in fact, i hardly see how they can be. the men who stole my model and patent papers are wealthy. they would not be very likely to stay in deserted houses." "perhaps some of the scoundrels whom they hired might, and through them i can get on the track of the principals." "well, there is something in that," admitted mr. swift. "then may i go, dad?" "i suppose so. we must leave nothing untried to get back the stolen model and papers. but i don't want you to run any risks. if you would only take some one with you. there's your chum, ned newton. perhaps he would go." "no, i'd rather work it alone, dad. i'll be careful. besides, ned could not get away from the bank. i may have to be gone a week, and he has no motor-cycle. i can manage all right." tom was off bright and early. he had carefully laid his plans, and had decided that he would not go direct to pineford, which was the nearest village to the old harkness mansion. "if those fellows are in hiding they will probably keep watch on who comes to the village," thought tom. "the arrival of some one on a motor-cycle will be sure to be reported to them, and they may skip out. i've got to come up from another direction, so i think i'll circle around, and reach the mansion from the stretch of woods on the north." he had inquired from eradicate as to the lay of the land, and had a good general idea of it. he knew there was a patch of woodland on one side of the mansion, while the other sides were open. "i may not be able to ride through the woods," mused tom, "but i'll take my machine as close as i can, and walk the rest of the way. once i discover whether or not the gang is in the place, i'll know what to do." to follow out the plan he had laid down for himself meant that tom must take a roundabout way. it would necessitate being a whole day on the road, before he would be near the head of lake carlopa, where the harkness house was located. the lake was a large one, and tom had never been to the upper end. when he was within a few miles of pineford, tom took a road that branched off and went around it. stopping at night in a lonely farmhouse, he pushed on the next morning, hoping to get to the woods that night. but a puncture to one of the tires delayed him, and after that was repaired he discovered something wrong with his batteries. he had to go five miles out of his way to get new cells, and it was dusk when he came to the stretch of woods which he knew lay between him and the old mansion. "i don't fancy starting in there at night," said tom to himself. "guess i'd better stay somewhere around here until morning, and then venture in. but the question is where to stay?" the country was deserted, and for a mile or more he had seen no houses. he kept on for some distance farther, the dusk falling rapidly, and when he was about to turn back to retrace his way to the last farmhouse he had passed, he saw a slab shanty at the side of the road. "that's better than nothing, provided they'll take me in for the night," murmured tom. "i'm going to ask, anyhow." he found the shanty to be inhabited by an old man who made a living burning charcoal. the place was not very attractive, but tom did not mind that, and finding the charcoal-burner a kindly old fellow, soon made a bargain with him to remain all night. tom slept soundly, in spite of his strange surroundings, and after a simple breakfast in the morning inquired of the old man the best way of penetrating the forest. "you'd best strike right along the old wood road," said the charcoal-burner. "that leads right to the lake, and i think will take you where you want to go. the old mansion is not far from the lake shore." "near the lake, eh?" mused tom as he started off, after thanking the old fellow. "now i wonder if i'd better try to get to it from the water or the land side?" he found it impossible to ride fast on the old wood road, and when he judged he was so close to the lake that the noise of his motor-cycle might be heard, he shut off the power, and walked along, pushing it. it was hard traveling, and he felt weary, but he kept on, and about noon was rewarded by a sight of something glittering through the trees. "that's the lake!" tom exclaimed, half aloud. "i'm almost there." a little later, having hidden his motor-cycle in a clump of bushes, he made his way through the underbrush and stood on the shore of lake carlopa. cautiously tom looked about him. it was getting well on in the afternoon, and the sun was striking across the broad sheet of water. tom glanced up along the shore. something amid a clump of trees caught his eyes. it was the chimney of a house. the young inventor walked a little distance along the lake shore. suddenly he saw, looming up in the forest, a large building. it needed but a glance to show that it was falling into ruins, and had no signs of life about it. nor, for that matter, was there any life in the forest around him, or on the lake that stretched out before him. "i wonder if that can be the place?" whispered tom, for, somehow, the silence of the place was getting on his nerves. "it must be it," he went on. "it's just as rad described it." he stood looking at it, the sun striking full on the mysterious mansion, hidden there amid the trees. suddenly, as tom looked, he heard the "put-put" of a motor-boat. he turned to one side, and saw, putting out from a little dock that he had not noticed before, a small craft. it contained one man, and no sooner had the young inventor caught a glimpse of him than he cried out: "that's the man who jumped over our fence and escaped!" then, before the occupant of the boat could catch sight of him, tom turned and fled back into the bushes, out of view. chapter xxiii. tom is pursued tom was so excited that he hardly knew what to do. his first thought was to keep out of sight of the man in the boat, for the young inventor did not want the criminals to suspect that he was on their trail. to that end he ran back until he knew he could not be seen from the lake. there he paused and peered through the bushes. he caught a glimpse of the man in the motor-boat. the craft was making fast time across the water. "he didn't see me," murmured tom. "lucky i saw him first. now what had i better do?" it was a hard question to answer. if he only had some one with whom to consult he would have felt better, but he knew he had to rely on himself. tom was a resourceful lad, and he had often before been obliged to depend on his wits. but this time very much was at stake, and a false move might ruin everything. "this is certainly the house," went on tom, "and that man in the boat is one of the fellows who helped rob me. now the next thing to do is to find out if the others of the gang are in the old mansion, and, if they are, to see if dad's model and papers are there. then the next thing to do will be to get our things away, and i fancy i'll have no easy job." well might tom think this, for the men with whom he had to deal were desperate characters, who had already dared much to accomplish their ends, and who would do more before they would suffer defeat. still, they under-estimated the pluck of the lad who was pitted against them. "i might as well proceed on a certain plan, and have some system about this affair," reasoned the lad. "dad is a great believer in system, so i'll lay out a plan and see how nearly i can follow it. let's see--what is the first thing to do?" tom considered a moment, going over the whole situation in his mind. then he went on, talking to himself alone there in the woods: "it seems to me the first thing to do is to find out if the men are in the house. to do that i've got to get closer and look in through a window. now, how to get closer?" he considered that problem from all sides. "it will hardly do to approach from the lake shore," he reasoned, "for if they have a motor-boat and a dock, there must be a path from the house to the water. if there is a path people are likely to walk up or down it at any minute. the man in the boat might come back unexpectedly and catch me. no, i can't risk approaching from the lake shore. i've got to work my way up to the house by going through the woods. that much is settled. now to approach the house, and when i get within seeing distance i'll settle the next point. one thing at a time is a good rule, as dad used to say. poor dad! i do hope i can get his model and papers back for him." tom, who had been sitting on a log under a bush, staring at the lake, arose. he was feeling rather weak and faint, and was at a loss to account for it, until he remembered that he had had no dinner. "and i'm not likely to get any," he remarked. "i'm not going to eat until i see who's in that house. maybe i won't then, and where supper is coming from i don't know. but this is too important to be considered in the same breath with a meal. here goes." cautiously tom made his way forward, taking care not to make too much disturbance in the bushes. he had been on hunting trips, and knew the value of silence in the woods. he had no paths to follow, but he had noted the position of the sun, and though that luminary was now sinking lower and lower in the west, he could see the gleam of it through the trees, and knew in which direction from it lay the deserted mansion. tom moved slowly, and stopped every now and then to listen. all the sounds he heard were those made by the creatures of the woods--birds, squirrels and rabbits. he went forward for half an hour, though in that time he did not cover much ground, and he was just beginning to think that the house must be near at hand when through a fringe of bushes he saw the old mansion. it stood in the midst of what had once been a fine park, but which was now overgrown with weeds and tangled briars. the paths that led to the house were almost out of sight, and the once beautiful home was partly in ruins. "i guess i can sneak up there and take a look in one of the windows," thought the young inventor. he was about to advance, when he suddenly stopped. he heard some one or some thing coming around the corner of the mansion. a moment later a man came into view, and tom easily recognized him as one of those who had been in the automobile. the heart of the young inventor beat so hard that he was afraid the man would hear it, and tom crouched down in the bushes to keep out of sight. the man evidently did not suspect the presence of a stranger, for, though he cast sharp glances into the tangled undergrowth that fringed the house like a hedge, he did not seek to investigate further. he walked slowly on, making a circuit of the grounds. tom remained hidden for several minutes, and was about to proceed again, when the man reappeared. then tom saw the reason for it. "he's on guard!" the lad said to himself. "he's doing sentry duty. i can't approach the house when he's there." for an instant tom felt a bitter disappointment. he had hoped to be able to carry out his plan as he had mapped it. now he would have to make a change. "i'll have to wait until night," he thought. "then i can sneak up and look in. the guard won't see me after dark. but it's going to be no fun to stay here, without anything to eat. still, i've got to do it." he remained where he was in the bushes. several times, before the sun set, the man doing sentry duty made the circuit of the house, and tom noted that occasionally he was gone for a long period. he reasoned that the man had gone into the mansion to confer with his confederates. "if i only knew what was going on in there," thought tom. "maybe, after all, the men haven't got the model and papers here. yet, if they haven't, why are they staying in the old house? i must get a look in and see what's going on. lucky there are no shades to the windows. i wish it would get dark." it seemed that the sun would never go down and give place to dusk, but finally tom, crouching in his hiding place, saw the shadows grow longer and longer, and finally the twilight of the woods gave place to a density that was hard to penetrate. tom waited some time to see if the guard kept up the circuit, but with the approach of night the man seemed to have gone into the house. tom saw a light gleam out from the lonely mansion. it came from a window on the ground floor. "there's my chance!" exclaimed the lad, and, crawling from his hiding place, he advanced cautiously toward it. tom went forward only a few feet at a time, pausing almost every other step to listen. he heard no sounds, and was reassured. nearer and nearer he came to the old house. the gleam of the light fell upon his face, and fearful that some one might be looking from the window, he shifted his course, so as to come up from one side. slowly, very slowly he advanced, until he was right under the window. then he found that it was too high up to admit of his looking in. he felt about until he had a stone to stand on. softly he drew himself up inch by inch. he could hear the murmur of voices in the room. now the top of his head was on a level with the sill. a few more inches and his eyes could take in the room and the occupants. he was scarcely breathing. up, up he raised himself until he could look into the apartment, and the sight which met his eyes nearly caused him to lose his hold and topple backward. for grouped around a table in a big room were the three men whom he had seen in the automobile. but what attracted his attention more than the sight of the men was an object on the table. it was the stolen model! the men were inspecting it, and operating it, as he could see. one of the trio had a bundle of papers in his hand, and tom was sure they were the ones stolen from him. but there could be no doubt about the model of the turbine motor. there it was in plain sight. he had tracked the thieves to their hiding place. then, as he watched, tom saw one of the men produce from under the table a box, into which the model was placed. the papers were next put in, and a cover was nailed on. then the men appeared to consult among themselves. by their gestures tom concluded that they were debating where to hide the box. one man pointed toward the lake, and another toward the forest. tom was edging himself up farther, in order to see better, and, if possible, catch their words, when his foot slipped, and he made a slight noise. instantly the men turned toward the window, but tom had stooped down out of sight, just in time. a moment later, however, he heard some one approaching through the woods behind him, and a voice called out: "what are you doing? get away from there!" rapid footsteps sounded, and tom, in a panic, turned and fled, with an unknown pursuer after him. chapter xxiv. unexpected help tom rushed on through the woods. the lighted room into which he had been looking had temporarily blinded him when it came to plunging into the darkness again, and he could not see where he was going. he crashed full-tilt into a tree, and was thrown backward. bruised and cut, he picked himself up and rushed off in another direction. fortunately he struck into some sort of a path, probably one made by cows, and then, as his eyes recovered their faculties, he could dimly distinguish the trees on either side of him and avoid them. his heart, that was beating fiercely, calmed down after his first fright, and when he had run on for several minutes he stopped. "that--that must--have been--the--the man--from the boat," panted our hero, whispering to himself. "he came back and saw me. i wonder if he's after me yet?" tom listened. the only sound he could hear was the trill and chirp of the insects of the woods. the pursuit, which had lasted only a few minutes, was over. but it might be resumed at any moment. tom was not safe yet, he thought, and he kept on. "i wonder where i am? i wonder where my motor-cycle is? i wonder what i had better do?" he asked himself. three big questions, and no way of settling them; tom pulled himself up sharply. "i've got to think this thing out," he resumed. "they can't find me in these woods to-night, that's sure, unless they get dogs, and they're not likely to do that. so i'm safe that far. but that's about all that is in my favor. i won't dare to go back to the house, even if i could find it in this blackness, which is doubtful. it wouldn't be safe, for they'll be on guard now. it looks as though i was up against it. i'm afraid they may imagine the police are after them, and go away. if they do, and take the model and papers with them, i'll have an awful job to locate them again, and probably i won't be able to. that's the worst of it. here i have everything right under my hands, and i can't do a thing. if i only had some one to help me; some one to leave on guard while i went for the police. i'm one against three--no, four, for the man in the boat is back. let's see what can i do?" then a sudden plan came to him. "the lake shore!" he exclaimed, half aloud. "i'll go down there and keep watch. if they escape they'll probably go in the boat, for they wouldn't venture through the woods at night. that's it. i'll watch on shore, and if they do leave in the boat--" he paused again, undecided. "why, if they do," he finished, "i'll sing out, and make such a row that they'll think the whole countryside is after them. that may drive them back, or they may drop the box containing the papers and model, and cut for it. if they do i'll be all right. i don't care about capturing them, if i can get dad's model back." he felt more like himself, now that he had mapped out another plan. "the first thing to do is to locate the lake," reasoned tom. "let's see; i ran in a straight line away from the house--that is, as nearly straight as i could. now if i turn around and go straight back, bearing off a little to the left, i ought to come to the water. i'll do it." but it was not so easy as tom imagined, and several times he found himself in the midst of almost impenetrable bushes. he kept on, however, and soon had the satisfaction of emerging from the woods out on the shore of the lake. then, having gotten his bearings as well as he could in the darkness, he moved down until he was near the deserted house. the light was still showing from the window, and tom judged by this that the men had not taken fright and fled. "i suppose i could sneak down and set the motor-boat adrift," he argued. "that would prevent them leaving by way of the lake, anyhow. that's what i'll do! i'll cut off one means of escape. i'll set the boat adrift!" very cautiously he advanced toward where he had seen the small craft put out. he was on his guard, for he feared the men would be on the watch, but he reached the dock in safety, and was loosening the rope that tied the boat to the little wharf when another thought came to him. "why set this boat adrift?" he reasoned. "it is too good a boat to treat that way, and, besides, it will make a good place for me to spend the rest of the night. i've got to stay around here until morning, and then i'll see if i can't get help. i'll just appropriate this boat for my own use. they have dad's model, and i'll take their boat." softly he got into the craft, and with an oar which was kept in it to propel it in case the engine gave out, he poled it along the shore of the lake until he was some distance away from the dock. that afternoon he had seen a secluded place along the shore, a spot where overhanging bushes made a good hiding place, and for this he headed the craft. a little later it was completely out of sight, and tom stretched out on the cushioned seats, pulling a tarpaulin over him. there he prepared to spend the rest of the night. "they can't get away except through the woods now, which i don't believe they'll do," he thought, "and this is better for me than staying out under a tree. i'm glad i thought of it." the youth, naturally, did not pass a very comfortable night, though his bed was not a half bad one. he fell into uneasy dozes, only to arouse, thinking the men in the old mansion were trying to escape. then he would sit up and listen, but he could hear nothing. it seemed as if morning would never come, but at length the stars began to fade, and the sky seemed overcast with a filmy, white veil. tom sat up, rubbed his smarting eyes, and stretched his cramped limbs. "oh, for a hot cup of coffee!" he exclaimed. "but not for mine, until i land these chaps where they belong. now the question is, how can i get help to capture them?" his hunger was forgotten in this. he stepped from the boat to a secluded spot on the shore. the craft, he noted, was well hidden. "i've got to go back to where i left my motor-cycle, jump on that, and ride for aid," he reasoned. "maybe i can get the charcoal-burner to go for me, while i come back and stand guard. i guess that would be the best plan. i certainly ought to be on hand, for there is no telling when these fellows will skip out with the model, if they haven't gone already. i hate to leave, yet i've got to. it's the only way. i wish i'd done as dad suggested, and brought help. but it's too late for that. well, i'm off." tom took a last look at the motor-boat, which was a fine one. he wished it was his. then he struck through the woods. he had his bearings now, and was soon at the place where he had left his machine. it had not been disturbed. he caught a glimpse of the old mansion on his way out of the woods. there appeared to be no one stirring about it. "i hope my birds haven't flown!" he exclaimed, and the thought gave him such uneasiness that he put it from him. pushing his heavy machine ahead of him until he came to a good road, he mounted it, and was soon at the charcoal-burner's shack. there came no answer to his knock, and tom pushed open the door. the old man was not in. tom could not send him for help. "my luck seems to be against me!" he murmured. "but i can get something to eat here, anyhow. i'm almost starved!" he found the kitchen utensils, and made some coffee, also frying some bacon and eggs. then, feeling much refreshed, and having left on the table some money to pay for the inroad he had made on the victuals, he started to go outside. as our hero stepped to the door he was greeted by a savage growl that made him start in alarm. "a dog!" he mused. "i didn't know there was one around." he looked outside and there, to his dismay, saw a big, savage-appearing bulldog standing close to where he had left his motor-cycle. the animal had been sniffing suspiciously at the machine. "good dog!" called tom. "come here!" but the bulldog did not come. instead the beast stood still, showed his teeth to tom and growled in a low tone. "wonder if the owner can be near?" mused the young inventor. "that dog won't let me get my machine, i am afraid." tom spoke to the animal again and again the dog growled and showed his teeth. he next made a move as if to leap into the house, and tom quickly stepped back and banged shut the door. "well, if this isn't the worst yet!" cried the youth to himself. "here, just at the time i want to be off, i must be held up by such a brute as that outside. wonder how long he'll keep me a prisoner?" tom went to a window and peered out. no person had appeared and the lad rightly surmised that the bulldog had come to the cottage alone. the beast appeared to be hungry, and this gave tom a sudden idea. "maybe if i feed him, he'll forget that i am around and give me a chance to get away," he reasoned. "guess i had better try that dodge on him." tom looked around the cottage and at last found the remains of a chicken dinner the owner had left behind. he picked up some of the bones and called the bulldog. the animal came up rather suspiciously. tom threw him one bone, which he proceeded to crunch up vigorously. "he's hungry right enough," mused tom. "i guess he'd like to sample my leg. but he's not going to do it--not if i can help it." at the back of the cottage was a little shed, the door to which stood open. tom threw a bone near to the door of this shed and then managed to throw another bone inside the place. the bulldog found the first bone and then disappeared after the second. "now is my time, i guess," the young inventor told himself, and watching his chance, he ran from the cottage toward his motor-cycle. he made no noise and quickly shoved the machine into the roadway. just as he turned on the power the bulldog came out of the shed, barking furiously. "you've missed it!" said tom grimly as the machine started, and quickly the cottage and the bulldog were left behind. the road was rough for a short distance and he had to pay strict attention to what he was doing. "i've got to ride to the nearest village," he said. "it's a long distance, and, in the meanwhile, the men may escape. but i can't do anything else. i dare not tackle them alone, and there is no telling when the charcoal-burner may come back. i've got to make speed, that's all." out on the main road the lad sent his machine ahead at a fast pace. he was fairly humming along when, suddenly, from around a curve in the highway he heard the "honk-honk" of an automobile horn. for an instant his heart failed him. "i wonder if those are the thieves? maybe they have left the house, and are in their auto!" he whispered as he slowed down his machine. the automobile appeared to have halted. as tom came nearer the turn he heard voices. at the sound of one he started. the voice exclaimed: "bless my spectacles! what's wrong now? i thought that when i got this automobile i would enjoy life, but it's as bad as my motor-cycle was for going wrong! bless my very existence, but has anything happened?" "mr. damon!" exclaimed tom, for he recognized the eccentric individual of whom he had obtained the motor-cycle. the next moment tom was in sight of a big touring car, containing, not only mr. damon, whom tom recognized at once, but three other gentlemen. "oh, mr. damon," cried tom, "will you help me capture a gang of thieves? they are in a deserted mansion in the woods, and they have one of my father's patent models! will you help me, mr. damon?" "why, bless my top-knots," exclaimed the odd gentleman. "if it isn't tom swift, the young inventor! bless my very happiness! there's my motor-cycle, too! help you? why, of course we will. bless my shoe-leather! of course we'll help you!" chapter xxv. the capture--good-by tom's story was soon told, and mr. damon quickly explained to his friends in the automobile how he had first made the acquaintance of the young inventor. "but how does it happen that you are trusting yourself in a car like this?" asked tom. "i thought you were done with gasolene machines, mr. damon." "i thought so, too, tom, but, bless my batteries, my doctor insisted that i must get out in the open air. i'm too stout to walk, and i can't run. the only solution was in an automobile, for i never would dream of a motor-cycle. i wonder that one of mine hasn't run away with you and killed you. but there! my automobile is nearly as bad. we went along very nicely yesterday, and now, just when i have a party of friends out, something goes wrong. bless my liver! i do seem to have the worst luck!" tom lost no time in looking for the trouble. he found it in the ignition, and soon had it fixed. then a sort of council of war was held. "do you think those scoundrels are there yet?" asked mr. damon. "i hope so," answered tom. "so do i," went on the odd character. "bless my soul, but i want a chance to pummel them. come, gentlemen, let's be moving. will you ride with us, tom swift, or on that dangerous motor-cycle?" "i think i'll stick to my machine, mr. damon. i can easily keep up with you." "very well. then we'll get along. we'll proceed until we get close to the old mansion, and then some of us will go down to the lake shore, and the rest of us will surround the house. we'll catch the villains red-handed, and i hope we bag that tramp among them." "i hardly think he is there," said tom. in a short time the auto and the motor-cycle had carried the respective riders to the road through the woods. there the machines were left, and the party proceeded on foot. tom had a revolver with him, and one member of mr. damon's party also had a small one, more to scare dogs than for any other purpose. tom gave his weapon to one of the men, and cut a stout stick for himself, an example followed by those who had no firearms. "a club for mine!" exclaimed mr. damon. "the less i have to do with machinery the better i like it. now, tom swift is just the other way around," he explained to his friends. cautiously they approached the house, and when within seeing distance of it they paused for a consultation. there seemed to be no one stirring about the old mansion, and tom was fearful lest the men had left. but this could not be determined until they came closer. two of mr. damon's friends elected to go down to the shore of the lake and prevent any escape in that direction, while the others, including tom, were to approach from the wood side. when the two who were to form the water attacking party were ready, one of them was to fire his revolver as a signal. then tom, mr. damon and the others would rush in. the young inventor, mr. damon, and his friend, whom he addressed as mr. benson, went as close to the house as they considered prudent. then, screening themselves in the bushes, they waited. they conversed in whispers, tom giving more details of his experience with the patent thieves. suddenly the silence of the woods was broken by some one advancing through the underbrush. "bless my gaiters, some one is coming!" exclaimed mr. damon in a hoarse whisper. "can that be munson or dwight coming back?" he referred to his two friends who had gone to the lake. "or perhaps the fellows are escaping," suggested mr. benson. "suppose we take a look." at that moment the person approaching, whoever he was, began to sing. tom started. "i'll wager that's happy harry, the tramp!" he exclaimed. "i know his voice." cautiously tom peered over the screen of bushes. "who is it?" asked mr. damon. "it's happy harry!" said tom. "we'll get them all, now. he's going up to the house." they watched the tramp. all unconscious of the eyes of the men and boy in the bushes, he kept on. presently the door of the house opened, and a man came out. tom recognized him as anson morse--the person who had dropped the telegram. "say, burke," called the man at the door, "have you taken the motor-boat?" "motor-boat? no," answered the tramp. "i just came here. i've had a hard time--nearly got caught in swift's house the other night by that cub of a boy. is the boat gone?" "yes. appleson came back in it last night and saw some one looking in the window, but we thought it was only a farmer and chased him away. this morning the boat's gone. i thought maybe you had taken it for a joke." "not a bit of it! something's wrong!" exclaimed happy harry. "we'd better light out. i think the police are after us. that young swift is too sharp for my liking. we'd better skip. i don't believe that was a farmer who looked in the window. tell the others, get the stuff, and we'll leave this locality." "they're here still," whispered tom. "that's good!" "i wonder if munson and dwight are at the lake yet?" asked mr. damon. "they ought to be--" at that instant a pistol shot rang out. the tramp, after a hasty glance around, started on the run for the house. the man in the doorway sprang out. soon two others joined him. "who fired that shot?" cried morse. "come on, tom!" cried mr. damon, grabbing up his club and springing from the bushes. "our friends have arrived!" the young inventor and mr. benson followed him. no sooner had they come into the open space in front of the house than they were seen. at the same instant, from the rear, in the direction of the lake, came mr. munson and mr. dwight. "we're caught!" cried happy harry. he made a dash for the house, just as a man, carrying a box, rushed out. "there it is! the model and papers are in that box!" cried tom. "don't let them get away with it!" the criminals were taken by surprise. with leveled weapons the attacking party closed in on them. mr. damon raised his club threateningly. "surrender! surrender!" he cried. "we have you! bless my stars, but you're captured! surrender!" "it certainly looks so," admitted anson morse. "i guess they have us, boys." the man with the box made a sudden dash toward the woods, but tom was watching him. in an instant he sprang at him, and landed on the fellow's back. the two went down in a heap, and when tom arose he had possession of the precious box. "i have it! i have it!" he cried. "i've got dad's model back!" the man who had had possession of the box quickly arose, and, before any one could stop him, darted into the bushes. "after him! catch him! bless my hat-band, stop him!" shouted mr. damon. instinctively his friends turned to pursue the fugitive, forgetting, for the instant, the other criminals. the men were quick to take advantage of this, and in a moment had disappeared in the dense woods. nor could any trace be found of the one with whom tom had struggled. "pshaw! they got away from us!" cried mr. damon regretfully. "let's see if we can't catch them. come on, we'll organize a posse and run them down." he was eager for the chase, but his companions dissuaded him. tom had what he wanted, and he knew that his father would prefer not to prosecute the men. the lad opened the box, and saw that the model and papers were safe. "let those fellows go," advised the young inventor, and mr. damon reluctantly agreed to this. "i guess we've seen the last of them," added the youth, but he and mr. swift had not, for the criminals made further trouble, which will be told of in the second volume of this series, to be called "tom swift and his motor-boat; or, the rivals of lake carlopa." in that our hero will be met in adventures even more thrilling than those already related, and andy foger, who so nearly ran tom down in the automobile, will have a part in them. "now," said mr. damon, after it had been ascertained that no one was injured, and that the box contained all of value that had been stolen, "i suppose you are anxious to get back home, tom, aren't you? will you let me take you in my car? bless my spark plug, but i'd like to have you along in case of another accident!" the lad politely declined, however, and, with the valuable model and papers safe on his motor-cycle, he started for shopton. arriving at the first village after leaving the woods, tom telephoned the good news to his father, and that afternoon was safely at home, to the delight of mr. swift and mrs. baggert. the inventor lost no time in fully protecting his invention by patents. as for the unprincipled men who made an effort to secure it, they had so covered up their tracks that there was no way of prosecuting them, nor could any action be held against smeak & katch, the unscrupulous lawyers. "well," remarked mr. swift to tom, a few nights after the recovery of the model, "your motor-cycle certainly did us good service. had it not been for it i might never have gotten back my invention." "yes, it did come in handy," agreed the young inventor. "there's that motor-boat, too. i wish i had it. i don't believe those fellows will ever come back for it. i turned it over to the county authorities, and they take charge of it for a while. i certainly had some queer adventures since i got this machine from mr. damon," concluded tom. i think my readers will agree with him. the end boy scouts on motorcycles or with the flying squadron by g. harvey ralphson chapter i boy scouts in a strange land "fine country, this--to get out of!" "what's the difficulty, kid?" jimmie mcgraw, the first speaker, turned back to the interior of the apartment in which he stood with a look of intense disgust on freckled face. "oh, nothin' much," he replied, wrinkling his nose comically, "only broadway an' the bowery are too far away from this town to ever amount to anythin'. say, how would you fellers like a chair in front of the grate in the little old black bear patrol clubroom, in the village of n. y.? what?" the three boys lying, half covered with empty burlap bags, on the bare earth at the back of the apartment chuckled softly as jimmie's face brightened at the small picture he drew verbally, of the luxurious boy scout clubroom in the city of new york. "new york is a barren island as compared with this place," one of the boys, jack bosworth by name, declared. "just think of the odor of the orient all around us!" jimmie wrinkled his nose in disdain and turned back to the window out of which he had been looking. the other boys, ned nestor, of the wolf patrol, and jack bosworth and frank shaw, of the black bear patrol, all of new york, pulled their coarse covering closer under their chins and grinned at the impatient jimmie, who was of the wolf patrol, and who was just then on guard. it wasn't much of a window that the boy looked out of, just an irregular hole in a bare wall, innocent alike of sash and glass. away to the east rolled the restless waters of the gulf of pechili, which is little more than a round bay swinging west from the mystical yellow sea. to the south ran the swift current of the peiho river, on the opposite bank of which lay the twin of taku, chinese town where jimmie stood guard. tungku, as the twin village is named, looked every bit as forlorn and disreputable as taku, where the boys had waited four days for important information which had been promised by the secret service department at washington. the gulf of pechili and the peiho river glistened under the october sun, which seemed to bring little warmth to the atmosphere. junks of all sizes and kinds were moving slowly through the waves, and farther out larger vessels lay at anchor, as if holding surveillance over the mouth of the stream which led to tientsin, that famous city of the great chinese nation. "look at it! just look at it!" jimmie pointed out of the opening, his hand swinging about to include the river and the gulf, the slowly moving boats and the picturesque streets. "'tis a heathen land!" the boy went on. "they wear their shirts outside of their trousers an' do their trucking on their shoulders. say, ned," he added, "why can't we cut it out? i'm sick of it!" "cut it out?" laughed jack bosworth, "why, kid, we've just got to the land of promise!" "most all promise!" replied jimmie. "we've got nothin' but promises since we've been here. where's that secret service feller that was goin' to set the pace for us?" "perhaps he's lost in the jungle," laughed frank shaw. "he certainly ought to have been here three days ago. what about it, gulf of pechili and the peiho river ned?" he added, turning to a youth who lay at his side, almost shivering in spite of his shaggy burlap covering. ned nestor yawned and threw aside his alleged protection from the growing chill of the october day. the boys, fresh from a submarine in which they had searched an ocean floor for important documents as well as millions of dollars in gold, had arrived at taku five days before this autumn afternoon. after concluding the mission on the submarine, ned had been invited to undertake a difficult errand to peking, in the interest of the united states secret service. even after landing at taku, he had confessed to his chums his utter ignorance of the work he was to do. he had been requested by the secret service man who had engaged him for the duty to wait for instructions at the old house on the water front which, in company with frank, jack, and jimmie, he now occupied. the house was old and dilapidated, seemingly having been unoccupied for years, so the lads were really "camping out" there. their provisions were brought to them regularly by a chinaman who did not seem to understand a word of english, and, as the boys knowledge of the chinese tongue was exceedingly limited, no information had been gained from him. the secret service man had not appeared, and ned was becoming uneasy, especially as the curiosity of his neighbors was becoming annoying. "i guess this is a stall," jimmie grumbled, as ned arose and stood at his side. "you know how the moores, father an' son, tried to get us on the submarine? well, i'll bet they've got loose, an' that we're bein' kept here until they can do us up proper without attractin' the attention of the european population." ned laughed at the boy's fears. he had no doubt that the man who had promised to meet him there had been delayed in some unaccountable manner, and that the information he was awaiting would be supplied before another day had passed. "anyway," jimmie insisted, "i don't like the looks of things hereabouts! there's always some pigtailed chink watchin' this house from the street. i woke up last night an' saw a snaky-eyed celestial peering in at this window. i guess they've got rid of the man we are waitin' for." "if we only knew exactly what we were to do in peking," frank said, approaching the little group by the window, "we might jog along and report to the american legation. i'm like jimmie. i don't fancy this long wait here--not a little bit!" "as i have told you before," ned replied, "i don't know the first thing about the work cut out for us by the united states secret service people. there was some talk about following a brace of conspirators to peking, the conspirators who tried to discredit the united states in the matter of the gold shipment but that was only incidental, and i was ordered to come here and await instructions. so i'm going to wait-until the moon drops out of the sky, if necessary." "oh, we'll stick around!" frank put in. "don't think, for a minute, that any of us thought of quitting the game. still, i'd just like to know how much longer we have to remain here, and just what we are to do when we get to peking, if we ever do." "of course we'll stick!" jimmie exclaimed. "all i'm kickin' on is the delay. we might have remained on board the submarine, where we had cozy quarters an' somethin' to eat besides this chink stuff." "whenever you want to bump jimmie good and plenty," laughed jack, "all you need to do is to tamper with his rations. what's the matter with this rice, kid, and this meat pie?" he added, as the man who had served their food since their occupancy of the old house approached with a large, covered basket on his arm. jimmie wrinkled his freckled nose again and laid a hand on his stomach, as if in sympathy with that organ for the unutterable chinese concoctions it had been called upon to assimilate of late. "rat pie!" he said, in a tone of disgust. "i'll bet a dollar to a rap on the nose that it's rat pie! i can hear the rats squeal nights when i'm tryin' to sleep an' can't." "say, chink," jack said, seizing the chinaman by the shoulder and facing him about so that a good look into his slanty eyes might be had, "what do you know about this chuck?" "no chuck! pie!" "of course it's pie!" answered jack. "it would be pie if it was made of old shoes, if it had a crust on. what i want to know is, where did you catch him, and who pays you to bring it to us, and who pays him to pay you to feed it to us? where does he live, and is he black, white, or red? come on, old top. you know a lot if you could only think of it." the chinaman, an evil-looking old fellow with a long cicatrice across his left cheekbone, shook his head and regarded his questioner craftily. "no spik english!" he said. "you spoke it then," jack retorted. "i'll bet a pan of pickles that you know what we were saying when you came in here." "let him alone," frank advised. "that head of his is solid bone. he would think his foot hurt if he had the toothache." "what a filthy, yellow, toothless, wicked old devil it is!" jack went on. "some day when he comes here with that basket of rats i'm going to cut his pigtail off close behind his ears." "i think he's the foulest old geezer i've ever met," frank went on. "if i had a dog with a mug like that i'd hire him out to the man who manufactures nightmares." the chinaman stood looking stupidly about for a minute before placing his basket on the floor, then dropped it with a jar which rattled the few dishes within and scuffled out of the door. jimmie followed to see that he did not loiter around the house listening, and came back with a mischievous grin on his face. long before the appearance of the chinaman the boys had planned to use such uncomplimentary language in his presence as would be likely to excite his anger, if he understood what was being said. they did not believe he was as ignorant of the english language as he pretended to be. "well," jimmie asked, of ned, "did he tumble? what did you see?" "i saw as evil a look as ever burned out of a human eye," ned replied. "looked to me like he would enjoy feeding jack and frank to the rats." "then he understood, all right?" "of course he did," jack, answered. "i could see that with one eye. he's been coming here with his grub for four days, and picking up a word here and there every time. we ought to have had sense enough to have been on guard against such treachery." "what's the answer now?" asked jimmie, turning to ned. "i'm afraid we're in a bad predicament," ned replied. "this shows me new light. the messenger we are expecting should have been here long ago, and i'm now sure that we've just got to do something. i'm getting afraid to eat the food they bring us, and i lie awake at night, listening for hostile footsteps." "that sounds a little more like manhattan!" jack cried. "sounds like action! we're off in a heathen land, surrounded by enemies, and not likely to get anything like a fighting chance, but i'm for doing something right now. i'm not going to lie still here and be poisoned, like a rat in a sewer!" "i'm for going on to peking," frank said. "we can report to the american ambassador there, and, at least, get something to eat besides rat pie and something better than a bare floor to sleep on. if we only had the black bear, the motor boat we cruised with on the columbia river, we wouldn't be long on the way." "huh!" jimmie observed, taking out a minute memorandum book, "it is seventy miles by the river from taku to tientsin, and only twenty-seven by the road." "and how far to peking by the road?" asked jack. "it is seventy-nine miles from tientsin to peking," was the reply, "and the roads ought to be good." "that's more than can be said of the natives!" jack said. "the allied armies marched over the road to peking in 1900," frank explained, "and i rather think the inhabitants of strip of country have a wholesome respect for foreigners. with our high-power motorcycles, ought to make peking before daylight, if we start right after dark." "and don't run across any cutthroats on the way," added jimmie. "let's see," grinned frank, "we were to have a flying squadron of marines with us? what? i reckon they're flying so high that they are out of sight!" "suppose we see if the horses are in good shape," ned said, going to an adjoining apartment. he made his appearance again in a minute trundling a magnificent motorcycle. it was been built expressly for army use, with a long, powerful stroke 10 h. p. motor. it was as indestructible and as auto machine as could well be designed. with a perfect muffler, automatic carburetor and lubrication, it was a machine to cover miles silently and with little danger of delay. the open door behind ned revealed three machines arranged along the wall, and the boys rushed to the examination of them. in second all were in the room, bending over their steel pets. "say!" jimmie cried, presently, "we'll get peking to-night--not! this machine has been tampered with, and some parts are missing." "yes, i reckon the yellow peril is on deck!" said frank. chapter ii a disquieting discovery the four boys regarded each other in silence for a moment. jack was the first to speak. "how badly are the machines damaged?" he asked. "mine is all right," jimmie reported, after a careful examination of his steel steed, "except that a couple of burrs are missing." "and mine," frank hastened to say, "is all right except that the oil feed is blocked and the electric battery is shut off--that is, it is so arranged that the machine will spark for a short distance and then buck. great doings!" "and yours, jack?" asked ned. "just a few burrs gone." "and mine is o.k.," ned went on, "except that the carburetor has been tampered with. i think we'll get off for peking before long." "how?" demanded jimmie. "we can't make burrs out of wood, or patch up with rat pie, which seems to be about the only thing we have plenty of. i don't suppose we can get repairs in this yellow hole." ned took a handbag from under the burlap. "i am carrying my own repair shop with me," he said, taking out a box of burrs and a pair of pincers. "i've got all the small parts right here in duplicate, and some of the larger ones are in the big suitcase." "you're a wonder!" jimmie cried, dancing about his chum and wrinkling his nose until it looked like that of a comedian in a motion picture. "i wonder if you haven't got a hunk of washington pie in that keyster!" the lads fell to work on their machines, and in a very short time all were ready for the road. then ned put away his handbag and began an examination of the large suitcase, which contained the larger repairs for the motorcycles. it had not been molested. "there's one thing certain," he said, "and that is that the chinese who are watching us expect us to make a dash for peking. they took the pains to leave our machines in such shape that their tampering with them would not be suspected. i'd like to know just when this mischief was accomplished." "yes," frank observed, "they wanted us to get out of taku and break down on the road to tientsin. they would have us at their mercy out there-or they figured it out that way." "the work on the machines must have been done sometime during the day-or last night," ned replied. "possibly while we were dozing." "i don't believe it!" jimmie insisted. "i've had me eyes open every minute to-day." "well," ned went on, laughing, "we had a high wind yesterday, didn't we? a wind that tumbled the dust of the streets in upon us? well," pointing to a portion of his machine frame which he had been careful not to touch, "here is some of the dust which fell upon the motorcycle then. the person who did the job brushed a lot of the dust away, so, you see, he must have worked since the dust fell." "did he brush it all away?" asked jimmie. "no," ned replied, pointing, "here is a brace which he touched with his hands but did not wipe off. in a short time i'll tell you just what sort of a chap it was that did the trick." the boy got his camera out of the suitcase and took a picture of the spot on the machine frame where the print of human fingers showed. the motorcycle owned by, or in charge of, jimmie also showed a similar mark, and this, too, was photographed. this completed, ned laid the films aside for a time while he made a circuit of the old house, walking slowly as if out for chest exercise, but really seeing every square inch of the earth's surface where he walked. once he dropped a pocketknife which he carried in his hand and stooped over to pick it up. the boys thought he was a long time in securing the knife, although it was plainly in sight. when he stood up again and continued his circuit of the house there was a strange, inscrutable smile on his face. "what is it?" asked jack, the instant ned entered the house. "we've been blind and deaf since we have boon here," ned answered. "hostile influences have been operating all around us. now," he continued, as frank opened his lips to ask a question, "we'll see what sort of a tale the camera has to tell." as he looked at the films his face hardened and his eyes snapped. in a moment he put the telltale sheets away. "european fingerprints," he said, quietly, "and european footprints out there. it is not chinamen that we have to look out for." "what the old harry--" jimmie checked himself as a figure darkened the doorway. ned stepped forward to greet the newcomer. the visitor was a youngish man with black hair, growing well down on a narrow forehead, small black eyes, a straight-lipped mouth, and hard lines about his deep-set eyes. his manner and carriage was that of a man trained to military service. "you are mr. nestor?" he asked, extending his hand as ned approached him. "i have come a long distance to meet you," he added, before ned could answer the question. "from washington?" asked ned. the visitor nodded; glanced sharply about the apartment, where the motorcycles were still lying, and then squatted on one of the burlap bags. jimmie shook his fist behind the newcomer's back. it was evident that the boy did not like his appearance. "i am lieutenant rae, of the secret service," he said, in a moment. "i have been delayed on my way here. you were about to start on without your final instructions?" he asked, lifting a pair of eyebrows which seemed to make his little black eyes smaller and more inscrutable than ever. ned looked at the man, now lolling back on the burlap, and for a moment made no reply. then he lied deliberately--in the interest of uncle sam and human life, as he afterwards explained! "no," he said, "we were merely overhauling the machines. we are in no haste to be away." "i see," grinned the other. "you are taking life easily? well, that is not so bad. however, you are to start on your journey early to-morrow morning." "i shall be ready," ned replied. "you have just landed?" for just a second lieutenant rae's eyes sought the ground, then he lifted them boldly. ned was watching his every movement. "no," he said, then, "i came in three days ago, but i was obliged to await the movements of others before reporting to you." jimmie caught frank by the arm and drew him out of the house. out in the deserted garden--which was only a yard or two of hard-packed earth-he whispered: "that feller's a liar!" "what makes you think so?" frank asked. "he's no englishman," jimmie insisted. "he's a jap. you bet your last round iron man that's the truth. now, what do you think he's doin' here?" "well," frank replied, "i think you are right. he's not an englishman. the nerve of him to put that up to us!" "perhaps he's the gazabo that monkeyed with our machines," suggested jimmie. "wish i'd 'a' caught him at it!" "but ned says that was an european," frank said. "then they're thick around us," jimmie went on, "and we're up to our necks in trouble. i wonder what instructions this rae person will give ned?" "suppose we go inside and see," frank answered. when the lads reached the interior of the house again ned and rae were bending over a road map of the country between taku and peking. the visitor was indicating a route with his pencil. "very well," ned said, as if fully convinced of the honesty of the other, "now about the private orders. you understand, of course, that i know little concerning the work cut out for me." "you are to receive final instructions at peking." ned smiled, but there was something about the smile which told the boys that he was of their way of thinking. "he's on!" jimmie whispered in frank's ear. "you bet he is," was the reply. "i'll come here in the morning," the visitor said, looking at his watch, "and go out with you. the chances are that we'll have to make a quick run. machines in good order?" with a glance at the motorcycles lying against the wall. "we haven't as yet looked them over carefully," ned lied again, "but presume they are in good shape. as a matter of fact," he continued, hardly able to suppress a smile as jimmie looked reprovingly at him, "as a matter of fact, we know little about the machines. this is new business for us." lieutenant rae bowed himself out of the door, and the boys gathered in an inner room to discuss the situation. "we may as well face the truth," ned said, calmly. "the man who was to meet us here has fallen into the hands of our enemies. we are alone in china without instructions and surrounded by foes. now, what shall we do? we may be able to reach the water front and get off to one of the british ships in sight." "and go back?" demanded jimmie. "not for me! i'm goin' to stay an' see this thing out." "that's me!" frank said, and jack echoed his words. "well, then," ned went on, with a smile of satisfaction at the attitude of the lads, "if we are going on, we've got to get to peking without delay. i'll tell you what i think. the conspirators are aware that we are trying to run them down. if they can stop us before we fully identify them, their part in the plot against uncle sam will never be known." rest assured, then, that they will stop us if they can." "then it's us for the road to-night!" said jimmie. "that is fine." in referring to conspirators, ned indicated the men who had been involved in a plot to get the united states into trouble with a foreign government over a shipment of gold to china. this shipment had gone to the bottom of the pacific. it had been claimed that the gold shipment, which was marked for the chinese government, had really been intended for the revolutionary party, now becoming very strong. it was now insisted that the revolutionists had been posted as to the shipment, and that it was on the books for them to seize it the moment it left the protection of the american flag. these claims having been made, and believed, in the state department of a foreign government, none too friendly to the government of the united states. a ship had been sent out to watch the transfer of the gold. at least, that was what had been claimed, but this ship, so sent out, had, by an "accident," rammed and sunk the treasure boat. if the chinese government did not get the gold, neither did the leaders of the revolutionary party. it had been claimed at washington that the whole thing was a plot to discredit the united states government in the eyes of the nations of europe, and ned nestor and his chums had been sent out to search the wreck for papers which would disprove the statements made. the papers had been secured. the point now was to connect the foreign statesmen who had burned their fingers in the plot with the affair. ned knew that the papers would establish the falsity of the charges, but he wanted to place the blame for the whole matter where it belonged. he wanted to track the man who had conferred with known conspirators back to his home. he wanted to be able to point out the treacherous government which had so sought to belittle the united states in the eyes of the world. the boy had no doubt that this was actually the mission upon which he had been sent when ordered by the secret service department to report at taku and there await instructions before proceeding to peking. he did not understand why he had been instructed to make the trip to peking on a motorcycle when there were easier ways, but he was quick to obey orders. later on he learned just why this order had been given. "yes," ned replied to jimmie's remark, "i think we may as well set out for peking to-night. if we wait until morning, we may not be at liberty to start out." "what do you mean by that?" asked jack. "study it out," smiled ned, "and you may be able to find an answer." while the boy was speaking, he bent over and looked keenly at a footprint on the earthen floor of the room. it was not such a print as the foot-covering of a chinese man would leave. it had been made by the long heel of an european shoe. when ned looked closer, he saw that the ground was stained a deep red, that there were dark crimson spots on the window casing. then he saw that a struggle must have taken place in the room, for the few things it held were in disorder. "boys," he said, "perhaps our secret service man got here before we did." chapter iii a shoe and a surprise "what do you mean by that?" asked frank. "if he had reached the old house first, he would have waited here for us, wouldn't he?" "look what's here," ned replied. "there has been a fight in the room. the combatants fought from the inner wall to the window, then a knife was used. these stains are by no means fresh, but they tell the story. and to think that we've been here all these days and never found them!" "well," frank hastened to say, "we weren't suspicious; and, then, we had no occasion to visit this room." "we should have been on our guard," ned replied, "but there is no help for it now. this discovery may block our going on to peking to-night." "i don't see why," jack said, in a disappointed tone. "if the man who was wounded here and carried out of the window," ned replied, "is really the messenger we are waiting for, we ought not to go away and leave him in the hands of the enemy. it may not be the one i fear it is, but we ought to find out about that." "it might have been only natives fighting," urged jack. "of course," ned insisted, "but we ought not to leave if there is any possibility of our friend being in trouble. besides, jack," he went on, "a native fight here would hardly be umpired by a man wearing european shoes! here are the tracks, and i found others like them on the ground outside not long ago. we may as well go out now and try to follow them." accompanied by jimmie, ned went out and made a closer examination. the tracks crossed the yard and ended at the street in the rear of the old house. "now," ned said, as he stepped out on the beaten course of the unpaved street, "we shall have to take chances. the trail has disappeared, and we can only depend on our enemies for guidance." "that's fine!" said jimmie. "we may as well go back!" ned pointed to a little group of chinamen standing not far away, at the corner of a street lined with miserable huts. "we'll walk about here," he said, "and if we get somewhere near any point of information to us or danger to the others, i have a notion that that nest of celestials will begin to buzz." jimmie laughed and the two passed on, merely looking in the direction of the group as they passed it. they moved on down the street on the opposite side. the chinamen did not move. when they turned back, however, on the other side of the thoroughfare and stopped, on speculation, for an instant before a hut somewhat larger and more dilapidated than the others, a pair of the watchers suddenly detached themselves from the group and hastened away in opposite directions. two more strolled toward the boys. "what next?" asked jimmie, in a whisper. "seems to me that our halting here indicates that there may be something doing in this house," ned replied. "suppose we go in and ask some ordinary question?" "an' get kicked out!" grunted jimmie. "that will be all right, so long as they let us out at all," ned replied with a smile. "i just want to know why our stopping here excited the chinks who were watching us." as ned turned toward the house the little fellow caught him by the sleeve and held him back. "you look out," he said, "there's a snake in there, that black-eyed snake who claimed to be lieutenant rae! do you want him to know that we are wise to his game?" ned turned and started away from the house, but there came a call from the structure, and the next instant two men were running out to greet him. more by gestures than by words they informed the boys that there was a man in the house wished to see them. in a moment they stood facing the man who had called himself lieutenant rae. he advanced to meet them and pointed to chairs as they entered the room. "out for a walk?" he asked, with a smile. ned nodded and jimmie grinned. "the owner of this house," rae went on, "is an old friend of mine. we met first, years ago, in san francisco. i'm staying here while in the town. by the way, i was about to visit your quarters." "come along," ned said. "we must be getting back." rae left the room, saying that he would bring a raincoat, and jimmie pointed to a rear apartment where an old chinaman with a long, sinister cicatrice on his left cheek was bending over a table. "that's the chink who brings our grub," he said. "what is this rae person doing here? i don't eat no more grub that chink brings." ned made no reply, for a swinging closet door attracted his attention at that moment. inside the narrow closet, on the rough floor, lay a pair of european shoes. ned slipped forward and seized one. when rae returned it was hidden in a capacious pocket. "what is it?" whispered jimmie. "if i'm not much mistaken," was the reply, "it is the shoe that made the tracks we have been following." "then this rae person didn't always enter the old house where we are stopping by the front way," commented jimmie. "gee," he added, "i'll bet he umpired that fight, and the man the chinks carried off is in this house now." there was no more opportunity for conversation between the two boys at that time, for rae stood watching them closely, a sneering smile on his face. ned turned toward the door. "why venture out in the storm?" asked rae. "surely, there is no need of haste. your friends will not lose themselves during your absence." "you were ready to go, a moment ago," ned said. "it is the storm," the other observed, with a shrug of the shoulders. "it is increasing in violence every moment." glancing into the rear room, ned saw the old chinaman leave his work and pass through a door to the west. the boy thought he recognized a significant signal as the fellow disappeared, the lads never knew exactly how it all occurred. they only knew at the time that there was a quick rush, a flash of weapons, a desperate struggle, then momentary unconsciousness. they decided afterwards that their enemies had rushed upon them from every direction, and that the sneering face of rae had gloated over their capture. "don't injure them," rae ordered, as ropes were knotted about the wrists and ankles of the prisoners. "i'll go out now and see that the two black bears," with a double sneer in his voice, "are taken into camp in short order. bad climate, this, for school boys who imitate wild animals," he added, with a malicious smile. "a bad climate." "you're all right!" jimmie called out, as rae paused in the doorway for an instant. "you're all right! but let me give you a pointer. you keep the bears and wolves you get in strong cages! if they get out, they'll eat you up!" "oh! i'll pull their fangs!" laughed the other, and then he was gone. "this china seems to be a nice country," jimmie said, turning to ned. "some people would break our crusts in instead of tyin' us up." "i rather think," ned replied, "that they have planned to do that a little later on. we ought never to have taken such chances." "you can't have a chicken pie," grinned jimmie, "unless some one kills a chicken! no more can you find out what's goin' on by sittin' down in an old house an' waitin' for someone to bring you the news in a new york newspaper! we had to keep cases on this chap, didn't we?" "i think you would talk slang if you were drowning," ned smiled. "anyway," he added, "we've caused rae, if that is his name, to show his hand. that is something." "if we never get away," laughed jimmie, "we can leave the information to our friends in a will! i wonder if this gazabo will get frank and jack?" "possibly," ned answered. "they seem to be puttin' most all the americans in china out of circulation!" said the little fellow. "wonder if that old gear-face thinks he can guard us an' sleep, too? say, you watch your chance, ned, an' i'll roll over and geezle him an' you get out of the house. roll out, tumble out, any way to get out! there," with a sigh of disappointment, "there's another chink in the game. listen to what they are saying!" chapter iv two black bears in trouble jack and frank sat long by the window, waiting for ned and jimmie to return. the doors of the adjoining rooms were wide open, so they had a full view of the lower floor. there were windows, unglazed like that which looked out on the gulf of pechili, too, and the lads could see for some distance along the street which ran parallel with the one upon which the miserable old structure faced. presently a mist crept over the sky, and black clouds rolled in from the threatening canopy over the gulf. there was evidently a storm brewing, and, besides, the night was coming on. in spite of the fact that they had a good view all about them, so far as the house and its immediate vicinity was concerned, both boys felt that almost indescribable sensation which one experiences when being observed from behind by keen and magnetic eyes. they were not exactly afraid, but they had premonitions of approaching trouble. "i wonder what's keeping ned?" jack asked. "hope he hasn't gotten into trouble." "oh, he'll look out for that!" "of course! ned's no slouch!" while the boys cheered themselves with such remarks as these, the rooms grew darker and the black clouds from off the gulf dropped nearer. "what an ungodly country!" jack exclaimed. "i feel as if i were surrounded by snakes, and all kinds of reptiles. how would you like to take a new york special, just now?" "i'm not yet seared of the job we are on," frank replied, "but i'd like a half decent show of getting out alive. i feel like we were in a hole in the ground, with all manner of creeping things about us. the very air seems to be impregnated with treachery and cunning." "that's the breath of the orient," smiled jack, not inclined to continue in the vein in which the conversation had started. "i don't know why the breath of the orient should differ from the breath of the occident," replied frank, well pleased at the change of subject. "it wouldn't, if the natives of the far east would put bathtubs in their houses and garbage cans on the street comers." "well, there certainly is an odor about the east," grinned jack. "perhaps it is the hot weather." "hot weather has nothing to do with the sanitary conditions of this part of the world," frank went on. "peking is in the latitude of philadelphia, or new york. you wouldn't think so to hear people talk about the orient back home, but you'll change your mind if you don't get out of this before winter sets in." "somehow i never associated cold weather with the east," jack said. "why," frank continued, "this river freezes over about the middle of december and they run sledges on the ice until the middle of march. in summer it is often 106 above zero, while in the winter it drops to about 6 degrees below. if the natives were half civilized, you might get the idea that you were in ohio, because of the fields of corn." "we don't know much about china, do we?" mused jack. this was frank's opportunity. before reaching the coast he had spent many hours studying up on the history of the strange land he was about to visit. his father was owner and editor of one of the most powerful newspapers in new york city, and the boy had had plenty of inspiration for historical research from the time he was old enough to read. his father's library had supplied him with all the facilities necessary to the carrying out of his inclination, and his travels with the boy scouts had brought him into contact with many of the countries whole history he had studied so enthusiastically. now he saw an opportunity of talking china to jack, and started in at once. jack listened eagerly, for, while interested in the past of the strange land, he was too busy a young man to spend much time in any library. his father was one of the leading corporation lawyers in new york, but the boy's inclinations pointed to mining as a future profession--when he had investigated the wilds of the world! "we don't know much about china," frank began, "because for centuries china has shunned what we call civilization. this is said to be the most ancient and populous nation in the world, although it seems to me that history goes back farther on the banks of the nile and the euphrates than on the western shore of the yellow sea. "the authentic history of china goes back 2207 years before the birth of christ, while egyptian records and the data found along the euphrates and the tigris point to a much older organization of men into communities. however, it is said by some that fuh-hi founded the chinese empire eight hundred years before the date given, when yu the great began to make history. "one reason why the story of china is so short, comparatively, is that ching wang, the old fellow who caused the chinese wall to be built to keep out the tartars, ordered all books and records previous to his time to be destroyed. this was to dispose of the stories of wars, in which china, before his time, was always engaged. "china has always been at war with the mongolians. in 1300 a.d., genghis khan raised a mongolian army and captured peking. later, one kublai khan overthrew the sung dynasty and established a mongolian empire. the members of the defeated royal family drowned themselves in the river at canton. this mongolian dynasty lasted until the middle of the fourteenth century, when it was overthrown. "the chinese governed their own land, then, until 1644, just before which time the emperor was murdered by native sons. then the tartars got to peking, in spite of the great wall, and established the dynasty now on the throne. "one cause of the growing revolt in china is the fact that the tartars are still in power. but the tartars who were warlike enough when china lay before them for conquest quieted down as soon as sun-chi took the throne. peace has been the rule since then. "it seem strange, but it is true, that china has not progressed, has not been given the respect conferred on other nations, because she would not, or could not fight. talk about peace all you like, but it is the fighters that win whether in private or national life. "china has been kicked about by all the nations of the world, large and powerful as she is, because it was understood that she could be insulted with impunity. england put the opium curse on her against only feeble resistance. she has stood for peace, not conquest, and had been treated condescendingly, like a big booby of a boy at school who is afraid of lads half his size. the secret organization now forming in this country may overthrow the manchu dynasty, but if it does it will build a chinese republic and not a new chinese empire. "it is claimed by some that the united states is favoring this new chinese party of liberty, that the gold recently lost in the pacific was our contribution to the cause--by the roundabout way we have heard so much about--and that the washington government will be the first to recognize the new republic. "i don't know whether all this is true or not, but father says it is, and he ought to know. anyhow, there will be plenty of fighting before the present rulers release their grip on the royal treasury. it may be that our mission here is to find out something more about this new movement. "you see," he added, "if our government is for the new movement, the nation which rammed the gold ship, which set the conspirators at work, which sent a great statesman, as we believe, to negotiate with the conspirators, is against it, and uncle sam possibly wants to know what power it is that is likely to assist the present emperor of china in holding his job. if ned can get the proof he needs to establish what he already knows and suspects, he will do a good piece of work." "i wish he would return," jack said, with an apprehensive look about the room. 'i don't see what is keeping him." "here he comes, now!" frank cried, "or it may be jimmie," he added, "blundering through the window." both boys arose and hastened to the door of the room from which the sounds of approach had been heard. the apartment was dark and still, save for the whipping of the wind at the open casement. while the boys stood there, expecting every instant to hear the voice of one of their chums, rain began to fall, and a sharp zigzag of lightning cut across the sky. by this natural searchlight the lads saw a figure crouching just under the window. the illumination lasted for an instant only, and it was not possible for them to see whether the visitor was dressed in native or european costume. his face was not in sight, and only the barest outlines of his figure were discernible. jack was for rushing forward on a tour of inspection, but frank took a firm grip on his friend's arm and held him back. he not only prevented him springing upon the crouching figure, but drew him away from the open door-way, believing that both had been observed by the intruder. "we ought to get him!" jack panted, in a whisper. "we ought to find out if he is one of our enemies or only a common thief." "much good it would do to capture him!" frank whispered back. "we couldn't force the truth out of him, and the things they call courts of justice here would soon be after us." "then what can we do?" demanded jack. frank did not reply, for footsteps, now plainly heard above the sweep of the wind and rain, were approaching the room where the boys were standing, with automatic revolvers in their hands. "he's got his nerve!" jack said. "why doesn't he come into the place with a brass band? shall we sneak out of a window, or remain here and find out what he wants?" "i'm for getting out!" frank leaped from the window as he spoke, and in a second jack came piling out on top of him. "gee whiz!" frank whispered. "why don't you knock a fellow over?" "what are you trying to do?" demanded jack. "not a thing," was the reply. "say, but we'll get a nice soak if we remain here." "you'll get a nice soak on the coco, if you don't stop pulling me around," came back from jack. "then keep your hands off me!" frank responded. but in a moment both boys knew that they were not struggling with each other. a brilliant flash of lightning cut the sky, and by its light they saw each other lying on the ground under the window, each with a couple of men in native costume perched on top. jack fired, but the pressure on his back was not lessened. instead, he felt a snaky hand slip down his arm, seize his fingers and twist the gun away. "frank!" he called out. "frank! shoot at the heathens! i missed, and one of them has my gun." frank obeyed the suggestion, and three reports were heard. jack, though not naturally bloodthirsty, was overjoyed at the sound of a groan which came from the spot where frank lay. "don't try that again, son!" "that will be enough!" both sentences were spoken in english. then the boys were carried bodily into the house and sat down against a wall. then a lighted lantern was brought in, and the prisoners saw six sleepy-looking chinamen grinning at them. chapter v a collection of wild animals "well, what do you think of it?" the voice was that of an englishman, and the words were spoken in the room, but the struggling prisoners could not discover where the person who uttered them stood. it seemed to them that there were only the six sleepy-looking chinamen and themselves in the apartment. frank ceased his useless struggling with the rope which held both feet and hands in its strong coils, and glanced along the row of stupid faces. "what did you say?" he asked, hoping that the speaker would say something more and so locate himself. "how do you like it?" that was the same voice, and it was in that room, but, still, there were only the six chinamen and jack in sight. frank looked at his chum with a smile on his face. in that moment he resolved to meet whatever fate might have in store for him with a cheerful heart. he had little doubt that both ned and jimmie had been caught in the trap into which jack and himself had fallen. there was no knowing what the fate of himself and his friends would be, but whatever had been planned for them by their enemies, there would be no relief in sighs and pleas for pity. they were alone in the land of mystery. owing to the necessity for secrecy regarding their movements, no one with whom they had been associated in the secret service work knew of their whereabouts, save only lieutenant scott, who had sent them on to taku, and who had failed to keep his promises to them. and lieutenant scott? frank believed him dead or in the clutches of the conspirators. otherwise, he would have kept his appointment at the old house on the water front. the view ahead was not a long one, as the boy considered the matter, nor a smooth one, but he decided that nothing was to be gained by subserviency. "i like it!" was jack's quick reply. "who is it that is doing the talking?" "one of the six in front of you," came the answer in english. jack cast his eyes quickly along the row of faces, but failed to catch the movement of a lip, the twinkle of an eye. "you're a funny bloke," jack went on. "how much will you take for a month in vaudeville?" "he'd make a fine spirit medium," frank cut in. "can you make the talk come from behind me?" he added, with a grin. "of course i can!" although the boys watched closely, there were no signs of motion in any one of the six yellow, foxy faces, still the words seemed to come from the wall directly back of jack's head. "if i had you on the bowery," jack continued, "i'd give you a hundred a month. come on over and get busy in the little old united states!" "i think i'll wait until the boys bring in the other two wild animals," replied the unknown speaker. "i rather want to see the finish of you wolves and black bears before i see the bowery again." "you'll find more wild animals of our stripe on the bowery than you will want to meet," jack replied, "especially when it is known that you've been mixed up with boy scouts, to their harm, in china." "i'll take my chances on that," was the reply. "you have been very successful, you wild beasts, in butting into the business of other people, and getting out again uninjured, but it is going to be different now. there are two black bears and two wolves that i know of who will never get back to new york again." "all right," frank said. "we've had fun enough out of the secret service work we have done to pay for whatever trouble we have now. ned will be along presently, and then you'll have another think coming." "sure, he'll be along directly," was the reply. "in fact, he's right here now!" but it was not ned who was pushed, bound hand and foot, into the circle of light in the room. the little fellow came near falling as he was thrust forward, but he regained his equilibrium, and turned around to face his tormentor. "you're a cheap skate!" he said. "if i had you on chatham square i'd change your face good and plenty!" then he saw that he was speaking to empty air. there was no one in the doorway. the person who had brought him there and hustled him into the room had disappeared. "now, what do you know about that?" jimmie chuckled as he asked the question of the six silent figures ranged along the wall. as yet his eyes had not fallen on the figures of frank and jack, farther back in the shadows. there was, of course, no answer to his question, and the boy leaned forward, a grin on his freckled face. "say, but you're a bum lot!" he cried. "why don't you go back to the pyramids and sleep for another thousand years? there ain't no nourishment in sitting up there like a dime museum, for there's no one sellin' tickets at the door." "look behind you!" that was the english voice again, seemingly out of the heavy air, or out of the storm outside. jimmie turned quickly and saw his chums nicely tied up. in a moment he turned back to the row of six, without even exchanging a look with his friends. "who's doin' the talkin'," he asked. frank and jack were now too impatient to know what had become of their leader to delay longer. the latter asked: "where's ned?" "ask this lineup," jimmie replied. "i don't know. gee! if i had a face like that man on the end, i'd sell it to the wild man of borneo, its an improvement on anythin' he could get up. say, old socks!" he added, "where is ned?" "packed up, ready for delivery," was the reply. "say, how would you wild animals like to take a jaunt on your motorcycles to-night? nice cool night for a ride! you might reach poking by morning and report to the american ambassador!" "we'll get there in due time," frank answered. "i've drawn the teeth of this collection of wild animals, at all events," said the voice. "no more wolves and black bears will be apt to come to china. such collections are not popular here." jimmie dropped back to where his chums were seated. serious as the situation was, the boy could not restrain a smile as he threw himself down beside frank. the storm was still thundering outside, and splashes of rain now and then whirled in at the open casement. the lantern which illuminated the interior of the room showed only a round blotch against the darkness. in this circle sat the six silent men, watchful but motionless. "it might be a scene in a play!" jimmie exclaimed. frank nodded and whispered: "did they get ned, too?" jimmie nodded. his face was grave in an instant. "where is he?" frank whispered. the little fellow shook his head. then the voice which seemed to come from nowhere was heard again: "you'll meet him in due time," it said. a long silence followed. the lantern which gave out the light flickered in the wind and the beat of the rain increased in violence. in all the adventurous lives of the boy scouts nothing so weird, so uncanny, as this had ever occurred. "well," jack said, more to break the strange silence than for any other purpose, "why don't you say something?" then, through the clamor of the storm, came the sharp ring of steel. it sounded to the listening boys like the purring of two swords directed against each other by strong hands. instantly the light was extinguished, and the shuffling of feet told the captives that the watchful six were getting into upright positions. "hello, the house!" the challenging call came from the street outside. "that's good, honest united states!" jimmie whispered. "shall i risk an answer?" "you'll probably get a knife in your side if you do," frank answered. "the chinks are still in the room." "show a light!" the voice was nearer than before, and the three boys lifted to their feet and moved toward the window, which was just above where they had been sitting. frank was about to throw himself out into the storm when a muscular hand seized him by the arm. "nothing doing!" a voice said in his ear. "if you move again, or try to answer the call, that will be the last of one black bear. remain silent while i talk with your friends." "our friends?" repeated frank. "certainly," was the reply--given with a chuckle. "your very good friends from the american ship in the harbor." there was torture in the words, in the fierce grip on the arm. the promised assistance had arrived and the boys were powerless to make their perilous situation known! but a hopeful thought came to the brain of the boy as he was dragged away from the open window. it was barely possible that ned had escaped, that he knew of the peril his friends were in, and would arrive before the americans were, by some treacherous falsehood, sent away. "nestor!" cried the voice outside. "are you there? show a light." there was a rustle in the room, then black silence. chapter vi with the flying squadron "go around to the front and come in," a voice said--a voice from the room where the boys were. "i've just got here, and am trying to find a light." there was a rattle of arms outside, then the heavy tread of men still making some pretense, even in the darkness and the rain, of moving in marching order. the men who had come to the assistance of the boy scouts were preparing to enter the house. how would they be received? this was the question uppermost in the minds of all the boys as they waited. would they be greeted with treacherous words, or with a murderous fusillade of bullets and knives stabbing in the darkness? it would seem that the chinamen would hardly dare attack an american military squad, yet these men were outlaws, and there was no knowing what they might do. the lads heard the marines, as they supposed the newcomers to be, pass around an angle of the old house and stand for an instant talking in the doorway to which they had been directed by the voice of the man on the inside. frank was preparing to set up a cry of warning, let the consequences be what they might, when the rattle of arms told him that the marines had surrounded the house, and that every door and window was guarded! the men who were guarding the boys evidently knew what was taking place, for they released their clutches on the lads and moved away. next came a struggle at the window, and then a strong electric light swept into the room. jimmie jumped forward and bumped into ned, who was clambering over the decayed window sill. there were several shots exchanged on the outside, followed by shouts of both rage and pain, then three men in the uniform of the united states marine service entered the room. one of them picked up ned's searchlight, which had fallen to the floor when jimmie bunted its owner, and turned its rays on the mix-up under the window. there was a flutter of arms and legs, as frank and jack, half choking with laughter at the manner in which tragedy had so suddenly and unexpectedly been changed into comedy, pulled ned and jimmie apart. jimmie sat up, wrinkling his nose until one would think it never would smooth out again, and gazed at ned with provoking grin. "gee!" he cried. "i thought i was mixing it with six chinks! wonder you wouldn't knock before entering a private room!" "i did knock," laughed ned, rising from the floor and taking the flashlight. "yes, you knocked me down," grunted jimmie. the three marines, standing in the middle of the room with amused faces, regarded the four boys curiously for a moment and then moved out of range of the window. also ned was asked to shut off the light. "we're not out of it yet," one of them said. "our men chased the yellow faces into a bad part of town, and they are likely to be chased back, not by a few, but by a mob! these chinks like americans about as much as brook trout love the desert." "perhaps i'd better go out an' see what's comin' off," suggested the little fellow. "you'll only get captured again," jack suggested, provokingly. "i ain't got nothin' on you in getting tied up with ropes," jimmie retorted. "you looked like one of these mummy things when the light was turned on." the officer in charge of the marines motioned to jimmie to remain where he was, but the order came too late. having been relieved of his bonds by ned's quick fingers, he fairly dived out of the window into the darkness. "now there'll be trouble catching him again," complained the officer. "if he doesn't get a hole bored through him, we'll have to hunt the town over to get him out of the chinks' hands. why can't you boys behave yourselves?" "ruh!" jack retorted, annoyed at the tone of superiority adopted by the officer. "i guess we've been doing pretty well, thank you! i reckon you fellows must have followed off a cow path! we've been waiting here for you long enough to walk to peking on our hands!" "that's the fact!" the officer replied, speaking in a whisper in the darkness. "we were the first ones to fall into the snares set by the chinks. only for ned, we would still be waiting for you in a house something like this one, in a distant part of the town. how the boy found us i can't make out, but find us he did." "what are you going to do about that runaway kid?" asked frank of ned. "shall i go get him?" it was not necessary for ned to reply to the question, for at that moment a figure came tumbling through the window and a voice recognized as that of the little fellow cried out: "gee!" he said, feeling about in the darkness, "what do you think of my ruinnin' into a sea soldier an' getting chucked through the hole the carpenter left?" "if you boy will get ready now," a voice said, "we'll be on, our way toward peking." "how many of the chinks did you catch?" asked ned. "not a blooming one," was the disgusted reply. "they ran away like water leaking into the ground." "if you'd only let me alone," wailed jimmie, "i'd have got one. i want to soak the man that tied me up." the marines, a full dozen of them, now gathered in the old house and all made ready for departure. directly a motorcycle for every man was wheeled up to the door. "we have been practicing riding while waiting for you," the officer in charge explained, "and the fellows think they can go some!" "it is a wild night for such a ride," frank suggested. "couldn't have been better for our purpose," said the officer. "do you know why we are going on motorcycles?" asked ned. "i think i do," was the reply. "why don't you out with it, then?" asked jack. "you'll learn of the reason soon enough!" replied the other. "before we go to peking you may understand why you are going with a flying squadron of uncle sam's men!" "who directed you to the house where i found you?" asked ned. "a chap who called himself lieutenant rae," was the reply. "japanese-lookin' chap?" asked jimmie. "that's the fellow." "there's one more question," ned went on. "are all the men you took from the ship with you?" "every one of my men is here," answered the officer, "but there was a fellow, a friend of yours, with us at first who is not with us now. queer chap he was, too! german, i think, and a master at tangling up the united states language. he came on board the ship, and managed to get off with us when we left. in two days he disappeared." "that was hans!" cried jack. "who's hans?" "a german boy scout we picked up on an island. a member of the owl patrol, of philadelphia, he said. we left him on the submarine." "well, he asked after you boys, and looked disappointed when we did not find you, owing to the misleading statements of that fraud, rae. he left us without a word of explanation, and is probably looking for you. did he know where you were going?" "yes," admitted ned, "i told him we were going to peking by way of tientsin. i should not have done that." "oh, it can do no harm, and may be for your benefit. if the lad was not killed by the chinks, he is doubtless on his way to peking." "then you think he knew there was something wrong because we did not meet you?" asked ned. "yes; he acted queerly." "there are evidences of a struggle in this house," ned went on, "and we thought the messenger we were waiting for had been attacked, but it may have been hans after all. i hope he is not in serious trouble." "i am the only messenger sent to you," the officer said, "so, as you say, it might have been the german who was attacked, though no one knows how he ever found this house, or why, when attacked, he didn't make himself heard." the rain was now falling heavily, and it was decided to remain under shelter for a time, so the flashlight was brought into use again. "if your men can keep up with us," jack said to the officer, "we can get to peking in six hours, so there is no need of hurrying." "if you get to peking in six weeks you'll be doing well," laughed the officer. "what do you mean by that? demanded ned, who was anxious for a start. "i can't tell you," was the answer. "but it was never believed you could make a quick jump to the capital city. there maybe things to do on the way there. that is why you have to escort. i don't like this diplomacy game, but have to obey orders." "what i want to know," jimmie broke in, "is how ned got away. they had him tied up plenty last time i saw him. and, after he got away, how did he happen to blunder into the company of our escort? china is a land of mystery, all right!" "they didn't watch me closely," ned replied, modestly, "after they took you away, and when i did get out of the house i had only to follow one of my captors. believing that i was safely tied, my captors talked a lot about having the marines waiting in the wrong house while they disposed of the boy scouts!" "this man rae?" asked the officer. "was he there with your captors? that's one of the men we must take." "oh, he is the man that caused us to be taken," jimmie cut in. "i'd like to break his crust for him. i'm gettin' sick of bein' tied up in every case, like the hero in a bowery play!" "was there a chink who spoke english like a native?" asked jack. "there were two." "dressed in native costume?" "yes, and looking bored and weary." "then they're the men that sat with the others in a grinning row up against the wall," frank exclaimed. "do you think they are chinamen?" "disguised englishmen," ned replied. "that's my notion," frank went on. "oh, we'll get this all ironed out directly! if we could find hans we might start off with a thorough understanding of how the game was carried out here." the rain now slacked a little, and here and there stars showed through masses of hurrying clouds. the boys led their steel horses to the door and prepared to mount. "plenty of mud," jack suggested. in the little pause caused by the marines getting out their machines a dull, monotonous sound came to the ears of the party. it was such a sound as the boy scouts had heard on the rivers of south america, when the advance of their motor-boat was blocked, and hundreds of savages were peering out of the thickets. "what is it?" asked jack. "sounds like the roaring of a mob," answered the officer. "you understand that a word will stir the natives to arms against foreigners. as there is no knowing what this fake lieutenant rae and the men we drove away from this house may have said to the chinks, we may as well be moving. it may be safer out on the road!" "i should say so!" exclaimed jack. "we can't fight a whole nation, can we? look there! that was a rocket, and means trouble." the distant murmur was fast growing into a roar, and rockets were flecking the clouds with their green, red, and blue lights. shadowy figures began to show in the darkness, and a group was seen ahead, in the street which led away toward peking. "more dangerous than wild beasts!" exclaimed the officer. "be careful to keep together and in the middle of the road, when we get under way, for if one of us gets pulled down there's an end of all things for him!" "it is too bad we can't stay long enough to find hans," ned said. "if we remain here five minutes longer," the officer replied, "someone will have to come and find us. are you ready?" all were ready, and the next moment sixteen motorcycles shot out into the street and headed northwest for tientsin, which city lay in the direct path to peking. the group in the road ahead parted sullenly as the squadron pressed on its outer circle and the company passed through without mishap. that was as wild a ride as any living being ever engaged in. nothing but the speed of the motorcycles saved the boys, for enemies sprung up all along the way. some mysterious system of signaling ahead seemed to be in vogue there. the sky cleared presently. the road was muddy, but the giant machines made good progress, especially through little towns, through the doors and windows of which curious eyes peered out on the silent company, marching, seemingly, to the music of the spark explosions. after a run of two hours the officer halted and dismounted. "now," he said, "we've got a bit of work cut out for us here. if we make it, we may go on in peace. if we fail, all must keep together and take chances on speed." chapter vii the midnight call of an owl ned glanced about keenly as he left his seat on the machine and stood awaiting further instructions. there was little rain in the air now, but it was still dark except for the faint reflection of a distant group of lights. "where are we?" ned asked. "near tientsin." "so soon? why, i thought we'd be a long time on the way." "i reckon you don't know how fast we have been traveling," said the officer. "fear led me to take risks. i'll admit that." "i want to look through the city before i leave the country," ned remarked. "you are standing now where the allied armies encamped in 1900," the officer went on. "you doubtless recall the time the allied armies were sent to peking to rescue the foreign ambassadors during the boxer uprising? that was an exciting time." "hardly," laughed ned, "although i have read much about that march. i must have been about eight years old at the time." "well here is where the american brigade encamped on the night before the start for peking was made. at that time it was believed that the foreigners at peking had all been murdered. i was here with the boys in blue." "then you ought to know the road to peking." "i certainly do." "what are we halting here for?" "there is a dispatch from washington due you here," was the reply. "telegrams in china?" "certainly. why, kid, this city has over a million of inhabitants, and thousands of the residents are foreigners. of course they have telegraph facilities." "but how am i to get it to-night?" to the east lay a great cornfield, to the west a broken common upon which were a few houses of the meaner sort. the corn had been cut and was in the shock. in the houses the lights were out. but far over the poverty-stricken abodes of the poor shone the reflections of the high lights of the city. tientsin is a squalid oriental city, its native abodes being of the cheapest kind, but the foreign section is well built up and well lighted. these were the reflections, glancing down from a gentle slope, that the boys saw. the officer pointed to the north, indicating a low-roofed hut half hidden in the corn shocks. "we are to remain there," he said, "until you receive your instructions from washington." "but why were they not given me before?" demanded ned. "because the man in charge of this matter for the secret service department doubted your ability to make the trip to tientsin. that is the truth of it. if you had failed back there at taku, i should have taken the message from the office and mailed it, unopened, back to washington. you have made good, so you get it yourself." "they never put me to such a test before," grumbled ned. the officer turned, gave a short order to his men, and passed his machine over to one of them. "i am going into the city with mr. nestor," he said; "see that none of these youngsters gets away during my absence." "i'm goin' to get away right now," jimmie exclaimed. "i'm goin' with ned to the city. i guess i'm not visiting china to live in a cornfield. i want to see the wheels go round!" the officer glanced at ned questioningly, while the little fellow made a face back. "let him come along," ned said. "he'll come anyway, whether we give him permission or not. how far must we walk?" "walk?" repeated jimmie. "i'm goin' to take my motorcycle." "that may be a good idea," admitted the officer. "i had not thought of that." "we may have to make a run for it, judging from the experiences we had at taku," ned suggested. "nothing of the kind here," the other said. "you are as safe in this city as you would be in new york, under the same conditions, of course. you know there are sections of new york which strangers do well to keep out of at night." so, mounting their cycles again, the three set off for the foreign section of tientsin. at first the streets were very bad, but in time they came to smoother running and good time was made. it was now approaching midnight, but the city, was still awake and stirring. the streets were well filled with pedestrians, and many of the small shops were open. naturally the three motorcycles, speeding through the streets of the ancient city, attracted no little attention. here and there little groups blocked the way for an instant, but on the whole fair progress was made. jimmie, by no means as anxious as were his companions, enjoyed every moment of the dash. he was thinking of the stories he would have to tell when he returned to the bowery again! it is quite possible that the way would have been more difficult for the riders only for the uniform of the officer. foreigners are not given much consideration by the street crowds in china--especially by such crowds as enliven the thoroughfares at night--but, since the march of the allied armies to peking, uniforms have been held in great awe. at last the telegraph office was reached, and ned was glad to see that lights still burned within. his night ride would at least prove of avail. he would receive instructions directly from washington, and that would be more to the purpose than traveling along like a blind mole in the earth, receiving his information by bits from underlings in the secret service. besides, the boy was wet and cold, for the night was growing more disagreeable every moment, and he would now have an opportunity to warm himself by a blaze such as foreigners ordinarily insist on in the cold months in china. the man at the desk bowed courteously as the three entered the office. he was evidently a native of china but seemed to have profited by a foreign education. when ned gave his name and asked for a message, the operator, who appeared to be the sole employee there, coolly surveyed him critically from head to foot. then he turned questioning eyes to the marine. "it is all right," the officer said. "this is the person brought here by the flying squadron." "a boy!" cried the operator. "only a boy!" "aw, cut that out!" cried jimmie, always ready to resent any seeming discourtesy to his chum. the operator scowled at the little fellow and turned to the officer with the remark that he should be obliged to consult with his superior. "all right," was the officer's reply. "only make haste." the operator entered a back room and presently returned with a boy who evidently served as messenger during the daytime. after receiving whispered instructions, the lad passed out of the office, with a furtive glance over his shoulder at jimmie. then the operator went back to his desk, while the officer and ned stood waiting. there was no fire in the outer office, but a wave of warm air came from the rear room. "we have been riding in the rain," the officer said, seeing that they were not to be invited into the heated apartment. "may we go back to the fire?" the operator scowled, but the uniform won the day, and the three were ushered into a small room where an american oil stove was sending forth a generous heat. then the grouchy operator slammed the door and left his guests to their own reflections. "say," jimmie whispered, in a moment, "i don't believe that chump is on the level!" "well," ned replied, "he's got to give me the dispatch. he can't get out of doing that." "perhaps he knows what the message contains," the officer suggested, "and is not inclined to deliver it." "i hardly think he knows what it contains," ned answered, "for it is undoubtedly in cipher." "and you have the secret service code?" asked the officer, amazement showing on his face. "certainly." "well, they have a lot of confidence in you, then," said the other. at the end of half an hour a man said to be the assistant in charge of the station entered the room and eyed all three occupants keenly. his glances were met frankly by ned and the officer, but jimmie could not resist an inclination to wrinkle his nose at him. "which is ned nestor?" the man asked, addressing the officer. the marine pointed toward ned. "do you know him to be ned nestor?" was the next question, and ned thought he felt a hostile spirit in the tone. "certainly i do, else i would not be here with him." "this is important business of state," suggested the other, "and i have to be cautious." "your conduct seems more like curiosity than caution," the officer declared. "have you the message with you?" "yes, but i can't deliver it except in the presence of the manager." "is it in the code of the secret service?" asked ned. "it is in some code unknown to me." "if you don't deliver it in five minutes," declared the officer, "i shall call the american consul!" the official made no reply. "you can read this code, i suppose?" he asked of ned. "certainly." "well, i'll communicate with the manager, and if he says it is all right i'll give you the message and take your receipt for it. will that answer?" "it must, i suppose," replied the officer. the obdurate official left the room. "gee, but it's close in here!" jimmie declared, in a moment. "seems like a hop joint in pell street." "there is opium in the air," the officer said. "see if you can find a window." jimmie found a window opening on a large court and lifted the lower sash. then he called to ned. "i don't like the looks of this," he said. "if they should try to hold us here, what?" "they won't do that." "oh, they won't tie us up, i guess," said the little fellow, "but they may delay our departure." "go on," smiled ned. "an' communicate with the ginks that have been chasing us ever since we left the submarine," concluded the boy. "in time, jimmie," ned answered, "you may even get into the thinking row. i have been wondering ever since we came in here if we were not with enemies instead of friends." "i can soon find out," declared jimmie. "yes? how, may i ask?" "i'll rush out into the other room an' try to get to the street. if there's anythin' in the notion we have, they'll turn me back." "you might try that," smiled ned, and the officer clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder and declared that he was a "brick." so jimmie hustled out into the front office. the listeners heard sharp words, and then a slight scuffling of feet. then next instant the boy was pushed back through the doorway. "what is the trouble?" asked the marine of the assistant, whose flushed face showed in the half-open doorway. "you'll all have to be identified before you can leave here," was the curt reply. "you have asked for important state dispatches, and we want to know what your motive is." "my motive is to get them," replied ned, coolly. "wait until you prove your right to them," said the other, and the door was slammed shut. ned stepped back to the window and looked out into the court. the walls were four stories high, and there seemed to be no passage out of the box-like place. the officer suggested that he force his way through the outer office and reach the american consul, but ned did not approve of this. he thought there must be some other way. then a hint of that other way came from the court in the call of an owl. "that's a boy scout signal, and not a bird!" almost shouted jimmie. chapter viii the message from washington "surely," the marine officer said, in answer to the boy's exclamation, "that is a genuine, feathered owl. no boy could make so perfect an imitation." "it's dutchy, all right," insisted jimmie. "i've heard him make that noise before. now, how did he ever get to tientsin, and how did he locate us?" "it doesn't seem possible that it is hans," ned said. "how could he make the journey on foot, through a country suspicious of every foreigner? and how comes it that he chanced on this building?" "didn't he know that you were expecting instructions from washington while on the way to peking?" asked the officer. "i did not know, myself, that i was to receive instructions while on the way until i met you," ned replied. "if hans is indeed here, he has either blundered into his present position or gained pretty accurate information from some one unknown to me." "if he is here?" repeated jimmie. "of course he is here. i'm goin' out in the court an' give him the call of the pack!" "what does he mean by that?" asked the officer of ned. "call of the pack?" "the call of the wolf pack," answered ned. "we both belong to the wolf patrol, of new york." "and you think hans, if it is he, will understand?" "of course!" scorned jimmie. the little fellow was about to step out of the low window to the floor of the court when a mist of light appeared at one of the glazed windows on the opposite side. the three watched the illumination with absorbing interest for a moment. "hans must be up there," ned, muttered, "although i would almost as soon expect to find him up in a balloon." "i reckon you'll find an owl with wise eyes and feathers up there, if you wait," said the officer, with a smile. "the boy you refer to never could have traveled here alone." "you just wait," advised jimmie. presently the mist of light centered down to three small flames, apparently coming from three narrow twists of paper, burning in a row in front of a window on the second floor. jimmie grasped ned's arm as the three tiny columns of flame showed for an instant and then vanished. "there!" he said. "do you know what that means?" "it is a warning of danger," ned muttered. "say that again," exclaimed the officer. "what kind of a game is this?" "it is a boy scout warning," ned replied. "in the forest three columns of smoke express the warning. how did this german boy learn all this?" he continued, turning to jimmie. "don't you ever think the philadelphia boy scouts are slow!" answered the boy. "hans has been out in the forest with them, and knows all about woods work, an' signs, an' signals. give it up, now?" "yes," replied the officer, "i give it up. you boys must have a wonderful organization." "we certainly have," ned replied. the three waited for a moment, but no more signals came from the window. instead a heavy footfall sounded outside the door and a man they had not seen before stepped into the room. he was a heavily built man, with broad shoulders, black hair and eyes, and a wicked mouth. his face looked hard and repulsive, like the face of a reckless, intolerant, whisky-drinking captain of police in a graft-ridden district. he closed the door with his back as he entered. "you are ned nestor?" he asked of the officer. the latter pointed toward ned. "that child!" exclaimed the newcomer. jimmie restrained himself with an effort, for he knew that this was no time to engage in a quarrel. he turned his back to the group and looked out of the window into the court. there was now no light at the window from which the warning had been given, but there were flickers of uncertain candles at some of the others. the hooting of the owl had undoubtedly attracted the attention of the occupants of the building. as jimmie looked, however, the sash of the window he was watching was pushed up and a tousled head appeared. other sashes were pushed up in an instant, and pigtailed heads and slanting, evil eyes were in view. "i guess they're keepin' cases on the kid!" jimmie thought, as he made an almost imperceptible motion toward hans. "it would be pretty poor, i reckon, if i could get up there," he added, not meaning that it would be "pretty poor" at all, but, on the contrary, a very good move indeed. while the lad watched the window, from which the tousled head had now disappeared, some of the other windows closed. the natives were evidently in no mood to lose their sleep because of a foreign-devil noise in the middle of the night. the little fellow was certain that the head he had for a moment seen was that of hans, the philadelphia boy scout who had been so strangely encountered during the visit of the submarine to an island off the coast of china. he knew, too, that the german understood that something unusual and hostile to his friends was going on below. he did not stop to consider the means by which hans had reached the city of tientsin and that particular building. he accepted it for granted that he was there, and wondered just what steps he, the german, would be apt, or able, to take in the emergency which threatened the failure of the mission to peking. presently the voices of the marine officer, the official who had been summoned by the assistant manager, and ned reached his ears. the officer was clearly in an angry mood and ned was trying his persuasive powers on the newcomer. "are you an officer of the telegraph company?" the officer asked, in an angry tone. "i am not," was the equally discourteous rejoinder. "i am a private detective employed, by the manager here. it is my duty to look after just such cases as this." "well," ned said, calmly, "ask any questions you desire and we will answer them frankly. i came to china at the request of the washington government, and am to receive instructions here. the operator tells me that there is a cablegram here for me, but refuses to deliver it on the ground that i may be an impostor." "i think he has you sized up right," grated the detective. "then we may as well be going," ned said, still coolly. "there is nothing for us to do now but try to establish our identity before the american consul." the boy moved toward the door as he spoke, but the brawny detective obstructed his passage to the outer room. ned drew back with a smile on his face. "you can't leave here just at present," said the detective. "you will remain in custody until morning." "why morning?" asked ned, with alight laugh. "because your accuser will be here then." "why didn't you say something of an accuser before?" asked ned. "it was not necessary." "what does the accuser say?" "he only warns us against delivering important papers to a youth answering your description." "now i understand why all this rumpus has been kicked up!" cried the marine officer. "the man who warned you is lieutenant rae?" the detective nodded. "then he is causing us to be delayed for purposes of his own," the officer stormed. "he aims to get to peking in advance of us. we must be permitted to depart immediately." he moved toward the door, but the detective stood in his way. without a word he seized the fellow by the shoulder whirled him around, put his beery face to the wall, and passed out of the room. ned was about to follow him when the strange attitude of the detective caught his attention and he stood waiting while a scuffle on the outside told of a physical complication there. "much good that break will do him," said the detective, straightening out his twisted coat collar. "he will find a squad of police at the street door." "european police?" asked ned. "native police," with a snarl of rage as the commotion in the outer room continued. knowing that it would be no trouble at all to secure the release by any american officer taken into custody by chinese police, ned turned to the window and looked out on the court. he understood, too, that his own arrest would mean a long delay in prison while his identity was being established. so he thought best to keep out of the squabble the hot-headed officer had engaged in. how sane this decision was only those foreign citizens who had been arrested and cast into prison in china or russia can appreciate. while an accredited officer of a foreign power may almost instantly regain his liberty, a plain citizen, such as ned was forced to appear, might be kept in jail for any number of days, weeks, or months. the detective stood glaring at the two boys for an instant, as if anxious to inflict physical punishment upon them, but, as they remained at the window and said no more to him, he was obliged to take a different course. after rapping out several insulting observations concerning school children who ought to be spanked and put to bed, he flung himself out of the room. "you saw hans?" asked ned, then. jimmie opened his eyes in amazement. "did you?" he asked. "i saw the tousled head you saw," replied ned. "i thought you were looking another way," commented the little fellow. "that was hans, all right.' "but why does he remain inactive? he knows there is something doing down here, else he would not have shown the signal of warning. he ought to be out of that window by this time." "this is a country of hard knots," laughed jimmie. "they may have tied up his fat little trotters." in spite of the serious situation, ned laughed. "the tying up in this case makes it seem like a cheap drama on the lower east side in new york," he said. "i think i might get up to that window," jimmie suggested. "how?" asked ned. "by the lower window frames an' castings. if you'll manage to keep the chinks off me i'll try." "it is worth trying," ned mused. the other windows opening on the court were now closed. the sleepy natives, possibly doped with opium, had wearied of watching the figures in the rear room of the telegraph office and tumbled back into bed, or back on such miserable heaps of dirty matings as they chose to call beds. the sounds of conflict had already died out in the front office, and another visit from the evil-faced detective was momentarily expected, so jimmie was urged to make the proposed attempt to reach hans at once. he passed out of the window, crossed the beaten earth floor of the court, and began to climb. ned was pleased to see that he had little difficulty in ascending to the window. once there he heard him rap on the pane. there was a pause, and then the boy pushed up the sash and clambered inside. ned was glad to see that the boy had the good judgment to draw the sash down, as soon as he was in the room. what he would discover there the watcher had no idea. he might find hans there under guard. he might discover, when it was too late, that the german had been, unwillingly, used as a decoy by cunning natives into whose hands he might have fallen. still, there were the signals! the natives could not have known of the boy scout system of warnings, and hans would certainly have volunteered nothing in the way of allurement. he watched the window for what seemed to him to be a very long time. the pane remained dark. "if the lad finds the situation favorable," ned thought, "he may not return here at all. i should have instructed him to leave the room by the main stairway, if possible, and return to the marines. it would look comfortable, just now, to see that file of bluecoats marching into the telegraph office." however, there was now no help for the omission, and ned waited with varying emotions for some sign from the window. none came, but presently the door of the rear room was opened and the detective blustered in. "where is the other prisoner?" he demanded, looking keenly about the room. "he was here not long ago. where is he?" "didn't you see him crowd out with the marine officer?" asked ned. "he was here after that fellow left," was the reply. "but he can't escape from the building," he added, "for every avenue is guarded, and the chap the cablegram belongs to has just asked for it!" chapter ix tricks that were vain ned eyed the bullying detective keenly. he did not believe that the cablegram had been demanded by another. that was only a pretext on the part of his enemies to make their attitude of delay appear more reasonable. if, as was claimed, the message was now claimed by two, the holders would certainly be justified in using great caution in delivering it. he did not believe, either, that the telegraph officials had been nervy enough to resort to police protection. that would be to bring the matter into the courts, and he did not think those who were opposing him would care for that. "you are not telling the truth," he said, coolly, to the detective. "no one here could honestly claim the message, because no one in tientsin, previous to my arrival, knew there was such a message here, if i except the telegraph people and the man who sent it. if a claimant has shown up, he is acting under instructions from you." "you are deceiving yourself!" snarled the other. "where is captain martin, of the marines?" asked ned, not caring to dispute the point. "if you have arrested him, you'll be having his men after you before morning." "you mean the men you left in the cornfield?" "certainly, the united states marines." "then you don't know that they have gone back to taku?" "no; neither do you," replied ned. this was too cheap! "but, they have," insisted the detective. "at least, they have disappeared from the camp in the cornfield." "you seem pretty well posted as to our doings," said the boy. "we are pretty well informed as to all crooks who come here," was the reply. "what are you going to do about delivering the cablegram?" ned asked, ignoring the insult. "wait until morning and deliver it to the american consul." "in america," ned said, with a provoking smile, "we elect men of your slant of mind to the ananias club." "you'll see," was the reply. "in the meantime, you are in custody." where was jimmie? had he escaped from the building, or was he detained in the room he had surreptitiously entered? if he had indeed escaped, would he have the good sense to hasten to the camp instead of trying to assist his chum single-handed? ned asked himself these questions, but could find no answer. he saw that the detective was not inclined, not yet desperate enough, to march him off to prison, however, and took courage from the fact. if he could secure a short delay all might yet be well. directly the assistant manager entered the room, frowning and red of face. ned saw that something, perhaps something of importance to himself, was in progress on the outside. "the american consul is out there," he exclaimed, storming about the little room. "that's fine!" cried ned. "i presume i can see him?" the detective glared at the boy and shook his head. "no, you can't," he declared. "you'll stay here." "and in the meantime you'll tell him that i have gone away?" "we'll tell him what we choose." ned made a quick dash for the door, tipped the assistant manager over a broken-backed chair which stood in the way, and passed into the outer office. the detective grabbed at him as he sped past, but the boy eluded the ham-like hands which were thrust forward. there were three persons in the office, when ned bolted into it. these were the operator, the american consul, and hans! the german grinned in an apologetic way as ned hastily greeted him. the american consul was a pleasant-faced gentleman of middle age. he was dressed in rather sporty clothes, and there was just a hint of a swagger of importance in his walk and manner as he extended his hand to ned. dressler-archibald hewitt dressler, to be exact--was a pretty fair sample of the keen, open-hearted corn-belt politician rewarded with a foreign appointment for rounding up the right crowd at the right time. ned was glad to see that the consul recognized him as the lad in whose interest he had been pulled out of bed. he took the official's outstretched hand and shook it warmly. "i never was so glad to see any person in my life!" ned exclaimed, while hans stood by with that bland german smile on his face. "oh, we'll have this mess straightened out in no time," the consul said. "these people," with a gesture toward the operator, the assistant manager, and the detective, "are all right. they mean to do the fair and honorable thing, but they have troubles of their own. we'll have this all ironed out in no time." "this kid is an impostor!" shouted the detective. "no hard names, please," said the consul. "let us get at the facts of the case. you claim to be ned nestor?" turning to the boy. "that is my name, sir." "and you claim a cablegram which is here? a cablegram in cipher--the cipher code of the secret service of the united states government?" "yes, it would naturally be in cipher." "you have the key to the code?" "certainly." "be careful, young man," laughed the consul, "for i was in the secret service department before i came here, and know the code." "i'm glad you do," replied ned. "hand me the cablegram," ordered the consul, turning to the assistant manager. the detective stepped forward with a frown on his face. he glared at the consul and at ned for a moment, and then broke out: "you can't have it unless you will promise not to reveal its contents to this impostor." "can't i?" said the consul, coolly. "hand me the cablegram." the operator and the assistant manager drew back. the consul stood for an instant regarding them angrily. "one, two, three!" he said. "at the word three, pass it over!" "goot sphort, dot feller!" whispered hans. during the dead silence which followed ned watched the face of the consul for some sign of weakening, but found none. he knew that he had come upon an official who would stand by his guns, no matter what took place. there was a little crowd in front of the office, and half a dozen faces were pressed against the windows and the glass panel of the door. ned thought he saw a face there he had last seen in the old house at taku where he had been captured. the fellow carried a long cicatrice on his left cheek. "what do you mean by coming in here and giving orders?" demanded the detective. "i'll put you out if the manager says the word." ned, standing close to hans, felt the muscles of the german's great arm swell under the sleeve. hans was evidently anticipating trouble. "will you deliver the cablegram?" asked the consul. "i will not." as the assistant manager spoke the detective reached his hand up to the electric light switch. ned saw in an instant what his intention was. if the room should be suddenly thrown into darkness, the operator might escape with the cablegram. the consul, too, saw what was meditated and sprang forward. the detective struck at him, but before his blow reached its intended mark, hans struck and the detective went down as suddenly as if he had been hit with an ax. then, from unseen places, from beneath counters and out of closets, came a horde of chinamen. the room was full of them. "soak um!" cried hans. the german was about to adopt his own suggestion by passing a blow out to the nearest chinaman when the consul stepped before him. for an instant the threatening natives stepped back. the attacking of the american consul was a thing to be seriously considered. "once more!" warned the consul. "give me the cablegram." at a motion from the assistant manager the brown men closed threateningly about the american again. there was malice in their eyes as they pressed closer and closer. "this looks like another boxer uprising!" exclaimed the consul. "mr. nestor," he added, "if you will assemble yourself at my back, and our german friend will stand by, we'll give 'em a run for their white alley. hit hard and often." there is no knowing what might have happened then had not an interruption fell. ned saw the crowd at the door vanish, and the next instant the friendly popping of motorcycles rang a chorus in the air. then came the rattle of guns and sabers, and a line of bluecoats stood before the door. at their head stood jimmie, wrinkling his freckled nose as if for dear life. ned sprang to the door and opened it. "quick!" he cried. "don't let a man now in the room get away." "where is captain martin, the officer in charge?" asked one of the men. "the chinks can tell you," ned answered. "close up at the doors," he went on, gazing about excitedly, "so that no one can leave." this was done instantly. in fact, the natives and the men of the telegraph office were not in a fighting mood now. the guns and sabers of the marines had brought them to a peace-loving state of mind! they huddled about in the center of the room, the natives milling around like cattle in a storm. the assistant manager pushed out of the press and handed the consul the cablegram. "understand that i am doing this under protest," he said. "your conduct in invading my office with armed men shall be reported." "i shall welcome any investigation," the consul replied, with a smile, "because i want to know something of your motives in doing what you have done to-night. you know very well that the cablegram is of no importance to any person except the one to whom it is addressed. i can read the code, it is true, but you doubtless overlooked the fact that i have received such dispatches here. so, let us look at the matter in a reasonable light. what inducements were offered you to keep the cablegram away from this young man? speak up!" "you are insulting"' gasped the assistant manager. "come down to cases!" commanded the consul. "i don't understand your bowery slang." "how much money was offered you to hold this message?" there was no answer, but the operator glanced slyly in the direction of the consul with a frightened look in his eyes. "were you to withhold the message altogether, or were you merely to delay this young man?" "you are insulting!" repeated the other. "who bribed you?" came the next question, snapped out like the crack of a lash. "you have the message," the assistant manager said. "get out." "only for the marines you'd put me out!" laughed the consul. "indeed i would!" hans made a threatening gesture toward the fellow and he hastened to the protection of the counter. "my office is only a short distance away," said the consul, turning to ned. "we may as well go there and size this extraordinary situation up. i hardly know what to make of it." "there is one thing you, perhaps, do not understand," ned said, "and that is that captain martin, in charge of this squad, has been taken into custody by order of the detective hans knocked out a moment ago." the consul's face turned red with anger. he seized the assistant manager by the shoulder and shook him, over the counter, as a dog shakes a rat. "where is he?" he demanded. "tell your hirelings to bring him here, not soon, but now." "he assaulted me!" complained the manager. "produce him! one, two, three. at the third word he comes!" obeying a motion from the frightened man, a native opened a door back of the counter and captain martin was pushed out into the room, smiling and evidently enjoying the situation. "i could have butted out at any moment," he said, "for these chinks are not fighters, but i heard what was going on out here and thought i'd let events shape themselves. if i had been out here a short time ago i am afraid i should have made trouble for myself and for you." "it is nice to watch a game that you can't lose at," laughed the consul. "come along, with your men, to my office. this lad wants a chance to read his message." "sure," was the reply. "i want to know how that dutchman come to bring you here, and how my men managed to get here just in time. there are mysteries to explain. what?" he added, with a laugh. "i guess we'll have to wait for explanations until we know what is in this message," ned said. "come along to the office, mr. consul, for we have lost a lot of time already." "i am anxious to know what the message contains," said the consul. chapter x the dark road to peking half an hour later the american consul, captain martin, and ned sat in a private room at the consulate. the marines and jimmie and hans were in the large outer room. the cablegram from washington lay open on a table with a translation by its side. it read: "proceed to peking immediately and report to the american ambassador. keep within reach of the flying squadron. avoid complications with the natives. look out for plots to delay your party. important that you should reach peking at once. wire conditions." "not much news in that," said ned. "guess we've met all the trouble the washington people anticipated." "shall you go on to-night?" asked the captain. "certainly." "it is a dark, rainy night," the consul warned, "and the highways of china are none too safe, even in daylight, for american messengers who are insufficiently guarded." "we'll look out for our part of the game," captain martin laughed. "we'll, keep close together," advised the consul. "you will meet trouble on the way. the men who bribed the telegraph people will not get into the discard now. you'll find their hirelings waiting out on the dark road to peking." ned pointed to the dispatch. "we've got to go," he said. "i can't tell you how thankful i am to have met a true american here," he added, extending his hand to the consul. "i shall tell the story of to-night in the state department at washington when i get back." "well, get it straight," laughed the consul. "say that a blundering german boy, who said he was a boy scout from philadelphia, nearly dragged me out of bed about midnight and informed me that other boy scouts were in trouble at the telegraph office. i knew that ned was expected here, and so lost no time in getting down. that's all. the marines did the rest." "save for that beautiful bluff of yours!" laughed ned. "but how in the dickens did hans ever get to you? how did he know where to go? how did he get to tientsin, anyway?" "give it up!" smiled the consul. "you might as well ask me who got the marines out just in the nick of time." "jimmie did that, of course," replied ned. "i think i know all about it now," he added. "we saw hans in a room opening on the court. the little fellow burglarized the window and found hans. i don't know how hans got there, but jimmie found him, anyway. then the kid told his story and hans went to the consul and jimmie went after the flying squadron. i have a notion that this is the way it came about." in this supposition ned was exactly right, for jimmie had found hans in the room off the court and the two had planned their movements just as ned explained. the only mystery was as to how hans got to the tientsin house and the room where he was found. "we'll learn all about that in time," ned added. "now we must be off. by the way, i wonder where jack and frank are? i haven't seen them since i left the camp. in the rush of events i quite forgot to ask for them." "just wait until i talk with one of the boys out here," the captain said. "probably jimmie is already telling them of his adventures." but when the door was opened and jimmie questioned he opened his eyes wide in wonder. the captain drew him into the private room. "say," the boy said, excitement in voice and manner, "didn't you leave frank and jack at the camp when you left?" "why, i left when you did," was the reply. "they were there then." jimmie sprang to the door and beckoned the second in command into the room. by this time both ned and the consul were on their feet. "where did you leave frank and jack?" asked ned, as the officer entered the apartment. "they left us," replied the officer, with hesitation. "we made our beds of blankets and tumbled in, leaving one man on guard. when i turned in the boys were in their bunks. when jimmie awoke us, they were nowhere to be seen. they probably sneaked off to have a look at tientsin by night--and a beautiful time they will have." "didn't you see them when you went back?" asked ned of jimmie. "no; i looked for them, and one of the marines told me they had gone on ahead. i'm goin' out an' dig 'em up!" "you'll make a sweet fist of digging them up in this man's town, at this hour of the night," the consul declared, anxiety showing on his face. "you'll have to leave them, mr. nestor," he went on, "and i'll rake the city with a fine tooth comb but i'll find them." ned hesitated. there was the cablegram on the table. a delay of an hour or two might not prove serious, but this search for frank and jack might occupy days, if not weeks! it was inconceivable that the boys, disregarding all instructions from the captain and all warnings from ned, should have stolen off into the city for a night ramble. they both knew how much depended on the party keeping together and keeping prepared for action. "they must have had some reason for leaving the camp," ned said, after a long pause. "they never would have gone away without some object other than amusement, or love of adventure in their minds." captain martin went to the door and stepped out into the main office, facing the marines. "boys," he said, in as matter-of-fact tone as he could assume, "what did frank and jack say when they left the camp?" nine of the men looked up in wonder, but the tenth hastened to answer the question. "not a word," he said. "i was on guard, and i saw a young chap come into the little bit of light there was about the old house where we were stopping." "who was it?" ned interrupted. the marine shook his head. "i didn't ask him who he was," he said. "he asked where the boys were, and said he was a boy scout from boston, and wanted to see some one from home. i knew that the lads would be as glad to see him as he would be glad to see them, and showed him where they had bunked down in a little dog-house of a shack just outside the house." "and they went away with this fellow?" asked ned, anxious to get the story in as few words as possible. "why didn't you notify the officer then in charge of the squad?" "i didn't think it was necessary," was the reply. "well, the kid went to the shack where frank and jack were, and i saw them talking together there for a few minutes. then i saw the three of them pass through the circle of light, walking toward the city, and that's all i know about it. i wasn't under orders to tell them when to go, or where to go, or when not to go. it wasn't for me to interfere." "bonehead!" exclaimed jimmie. the marine glanced up at the little fellow with a frown. "don't you go to abusing me," he said. "i won't stand for it. i was raised a pet!" he added, with a smile, as the boy grinned. "stop that!" commanded the captain, sharply. "if you have told all you know about the matter you may go." "'wait," ned said, as the marine moved toward the door, "i would like to ask a question. would you know this lad you speak of if you should see him again?" "i don't think so. it was dark, and he didn't look me squarely in the face." "that's all," ned said, turning to the consul. "you'll do what you can to find them?" he asked. "sure i will!" "i can't remain and help you," ned went on, and there was a tremble in his voice. "i've got my work to do." "i understand." "and we'll start right away," ned continued, "if you are ready, captain. we ought to be in peking early in the morning." "it is a bad road," the consul said, "and you'll find, echoes of the scrap you had here waiting for you along the way. in the language of the cablegram, keep together!" when all were mounted there were still two vacant cycles--those the missing boys had ridden. ned pointed to one and spoke to hans: "can you ride?" "sure!" "then you may take one of the machines and come along with us." hans sprang onto one of the motorcycles just as he had observed the others do. under the impetus of the leap the machine trundled along for a few feet and tipped over, landing hans on his back with the rear wheel scraping acquaintance with his nose. "ouch!" he shouted. "dake him off! he bites! vot issit if i hand himone? vot?" while the others were laughing at the plight of the german, he made an effort to arise and the machine promptly slid down an incline and sparked and gyrated until hans' hair fairly stood on end with fright. "catch heem!" he shouted. "catch heem! he runs py the road avay! dunner! vot a streets!" "you mustn't tickle his ribs with your heels when you get on," advised jimmie. "that always makes him buck. it is a wonder he didn't tramp you when you were down." "holy schmoke!" cried hans. "vot a nose i vill haf! me for the walks to peeging!" "i guess you'll have to give up going with us"' laughed ned. "you may remain with the consul until we return. and help him hunt frank and jack, will you?" hans willingly agreed to this, and, with many handshakes and well-wishes from the consul, the boys were off for peking. by this time the streets were rather quiet, although they knew that before they could pass beyond the limits of the great, sprawling town with its million of inhabitants dawn would be showing in the sky. the swift ride through the city was a revelation to the american boys. all was strange with an atmosphere of age and decay. the habitations, save those occupied by foreigner--and these were grouped together--were mostly old and mean. the streets were in bad condition--worse than usual because of the softening effects of the rain--and the lights were, in places, infrequent. watchmen patrolling the thoroughfares in the idle manner peculiar to all alleged guardians of the night, gazed menacingly at the machines as they whirled by, talking in their spark language, as jimmie expressed it, but the uniforms kept them at a respectful distance. here and there were little tea shops, and before these were groups of natives, circled close together. it seemed to ned like a ride through a cemetery, the occupants of which had been awakened to life for an instant and would go back to their graves and their dreamless sleep again as soon as the machines had passed. the weight of ten thousand centuries seemed to hang over the place. there was a faint line of dawn in the direction of the yellow sea when the boys came to the suburbs of tientsin. before them lay nearly eighty miles of rough road to the capital city. with good luck, they figured that they could make that in four hours. now, at dawn, the road which curved like a ribbon before them, started into life. from field and village streamed forth natives carrying and drawing all kinds of burdens. in that land the poor are obliged to be early astir, and even then the reward of their labors is small. it was autumn, and the produce of the field was ripe for barter. there were loads attached to horses and loads drawn in carts; there were 'rickshaws, and bundles on backs, and on long poles carried over bent shoulders. the strange procession of the motorcycles and the marines caused many a surprised halt in the procession of industry. chinamen stood at one side while the steel horses shot by them, and then gathered in little groups by the wayside to discuss this newest invention of the foreign devils. the sun rose in a cloudless sky and the earth steamed under its rays, sending back in eddying mist the rain which had poured upon her with such violence the night before. it would be a hot day, notwithstanding the lateness of the season, and the eyes of the boys soon turned to a shaded grove not far from the highway. "me for breakfast!" jimmie declared, and the marines looked as if the lad had echoed their own thoughts. "we may as well halt a little while," captain martin said to ned, "as my boys are beginning to look empty. they have had a hard night of it, and we can't afford to cultivate any grouches!" ned, although he was anxious to go forward, saw good judgment in this and ordered a halt. in five minutes little fires were burning in the grove and the odor of steaming coffee soon rose softly with the mists of the morning. chapter xi the mysticism of the east "you remember what the consul said regarding trouble on the road to peking?" asked ned of captain martin as the two took seats under a tree not far from the cooking fires. "yes, and i wondered at his expressing such gloomy predictions. he gave me quite a scare." "i think i understand, now, why he did it," ned said, with a smile. "he was following instructions." "what do you mean by that?" "i mean that he had been communicated with by the washington office, during the day, and given instructions." "to scare you?" "no; to keep me up to the mark in caution." "i don't think you needed that." "well," ned went on, "this is a queer case. at first i could not make up my mind why the secret service people insisted on my making this trip to peking on a motorcycle, guarded by soldiers like a passenger in time of war. now i think i know." "then you have the advantage of me," said the officer. "i've been thinking that over quite a lot, and the answer is still to find." "unless i am mistaken," ned replied, "i am expected to do my work on the way to peking." "come again!" smiled the captain. "in other words," replied ned, "i'm set up on a motorcycle as a mark for the diplomats of europe to shoot at." "then i must be a mark, also," grumbled the captain. "exactly. how do you like it?" "oh, it isn't so bad!" smiled the other, won into better humor by the laughing face of the boy. "but why should the secret service department put you in such peril?" "it is my notion," ned hastened to say, in defense of his superior officers, "that they give me credit for sense enough to take care of myself. the same with regard to you." "but why--" "it seems to me," ned interrupted, "that the department is up against a tough proposition. the matter is so delicate that no foreign government can be accused of mixing this conspiracy for uncle sam. what remains to do, then, is to spot the tools being used by the power that is most active." "that's good sense." "well, we can't spot them in washington, nor in tientsin, nor yet in the american embassy at peking. where, then, but on the road--on the road where they are striving with all their might to block the progress of the agent who is trying to land them?" captain martin mused a moment and then broke into a laugh. "and so," he said, "you think we are spread out along this road for the conspirators to grab off?" "if they can, of course; but that is not stating the case right. we are spread out along the road to peking to catch the men who will try to stop us. see? we are here to watch for those who will try to catch us, and to catch them! what do you think of that?" "clever!" exclaimed the captain. "the system is an old one in detective work," ned explained. "it is no unusual thing for an officer to permit a prisoner to escape in order that be may be traced to his confederates. only this case is somewhat different, of course. we don't know exactly who the criminals we, but we expect them to reveal their identity by their own acts." "then we'd better be on double guard?" "of course. you know how the consul reiterated the warning he gave us. he couldn't tell us that it was the notion of the secret service department that we would be attacked on the way to peking, but he could tell us to look out, and he did." "perhaps he thought the truth would frighten you off?" "perhaps," laughed ned. "well, i'm glad to have the puzzle solved," captain martin said. "now we know just what to look out for. when do you expect to meet with these foxy chaps?" "they will appear in due time, if i am right," ned replied. "look out there on the road," he added, "they may be coming now." the captain looked and saw four men in the garb of priests, approaching the grove. their robes were long and of a dirty slate color, and there was a great star on the breast of the man in the lead. "a queer bunch," the officer said, "but not diplomats. they are taoist priests, and the chances are that they have a tumble-down temple in this vicinity. they are not very popular in china just now." "never heard of them," ned said, watching the men turn from the road into the grove. "as you know," the officer explained; "i have been on chinese stations a long time. well, i've taken a fancy to study up the religion of the people. or, to put it right, the three religions. first, there is the confucian religion, which is not really a religion, for it does not deal with the spiritual. it is a philosophy, which teaches the brotherhood of man. "second, there is buddhism, with its ruined temples and begging monks. this religion is an importation from india. aged people and women are its chief devotees. "third, there is taoism, scarcely less popular that buddhism. the priests live with their families in ruined temples and practice all sorts of fool things. they have a mystic alchemy, prepare spells and incantations, and claim to hold communion with the dead. it is said that worthless foreigners travel about in the disguise of taoist priests, just for the money there is in it, as fake spiritualist mediums travel about in our own country. "the people coming are taoist priests, all right, for they have the drums, and gongs, and fifes of their trade with them. their ruined temple may not be far away. if we have time we may witness some of their foolish ceremonies." ned's face looked thoughtful for a moment, then cleared. there was a smile on his face as he asked: "do taoist priests accost strangers on the highway?" "yes; when there is a show of getting money. they are a rank lot, as you will soon see." "these may not be so rank," ned replied, meaningfully. "'why," began captain martin, "you don't suppose--" "it seems odd that taoist priests should arrive here just at this time." "if these chaps really i are spies--the spies we have been warned against--the fellows we were sent forth to meet, why, there may be a bit of action here." "well," ned went on, "let them take the initiative. we shall soon be able to give a good guess as to what this visit means." as the four strangely clad figures moved across the little patch of field which separated the highway from the grove, jimmie came running over to where the two were sitting, an egg sandwich in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. as he ran the hot liquid jolted out of the cup and came in contact with his hand. "gee!" he shouted. "just look what's comin'." then he dropped the hot cup on the ground and began to dance up and down, shaking his blistered hand as he did so. "i got it!" he said. "there was only one hot cup in the lot, an' i got it! say, ned, what do you know about them callers you're goin' to have? look like busted washee-washee geeks from pell street. look at 'em!" by this time the marines were watching the advancing priests with curious eyes. breakfast was nearly over, and some of the men were preparing for a brief rest in the shady spot they had found. the priests, if such they were, entered the grove, passed through the group of men without a glance to the right or left, and approached the spot where ned and the captain sat. here they drew up in a line, much as the fakirs of the east indies perform, with their crude drams, gongs and fifes in full view. "hello, sports!" jimmie cried. ned motioned to the boy to remain silent. the captain addressed the priests in a couple of chinese sentences, but received no immediate answer. one of the fellows, the one with a great star painted, or worked, on the breast of his gown, soon advanced and stood directly in front of ned. "we have had warning of your approach," he said. "we have been waiting for you for many days." ned started, for the words were spoken in english. the captain muttered under his breath: "i haven't a doubt of it." "what do you want?" asked ned. the four bowed to the ground. "attention. the mysticism of the east is open to you if you are brave and strong." "bunk!" whispered jimmie. "where do you live?" asked the captain. the leader pointed to a pile of broken stones at the edge of the grove. a closer inspection of the heap told the officer that it was what time had left of a temple. "tell him to get busy," whispered jimmie. "can he make a tree three hundred years old in a minute?" "where is this mysticism of the east located?" asked the captain, unable to get the original notion that they were not what they seemed out of his mind. again the leader pointed to the ruined temple. "come!" he said. "now is your chance!" whispered the captain. "you are convinced that these are the people who were sent out to defeat the purpose of our mission?" asked ned. "sure," was the reply. "these fellows are not priests. i don't believe the chap who speaks is even a chinaman." ned did not hesitate long. if he was correct in his interpretation of the orders of the secret service department, it would be the right thing for him to go with the strange visitors. if, as he really believed, they had designs on his life or his liberty, no better place or time for the test of cunning and strength could have been selected. it was early morning, and the highway just beyond the grove was never long vacant of travelers. indeed, groups of five or six were constantly in sight. the travelers were chinese, of course, and not likely to assist him out of any difficulty into which he might tumble, still the fact that they were there was something. even conspirators do not seek audiences for their crimes. besides, there were the marines. ned understood that they would not be permitted to enter the ruined temple in a body, but he knew that they would be within call. "what's your notion?" ned whispered to the captain. "go, and take me with you." "of course you'll go if i do." "and what's the matter with me goin'?" demanded jimmie, who was near enough to catch the impression that ned was going somewhere and was intending to leave him behind. "perhaps the hosts won't welcome three," suggested ned, in a whisper. "such people, like those who present communications from dead friends, at a dollar per, like to work in private." jimmie did not wait to argue the question with ned. as usual, his answer was direct and to the point. he advanced upon the priests and demanded: "will you take me along?" the four regarded each other in perplexity. "come, now," urged the boy, "be good sports. be good fellers, for once!" it was finally arranged that ned, jimmie and the captain were to proceed to the ruined temple with the four and there learn something of the mysticism of the east! ned was positive that the time for his test of courage had come. still, he did not waver, for he was prepared. the marines were instructed to gradually encircle the old temple, and to listen for orders from the inside. while satisfied that he had now come to the turning point in the case, ned wondered, while on the way to the temple, if he ought to take the risk, whether it might not be wiser to arrest the fakirs, strip them of their disguises, and take them, by force of numbers, to the embassy at peking. still, if he took that course, he would have no proof against them--would not be able to connect the fellows with the conspiracy. the only thing to do was to take the risk. so, with a premonition of danger in his heart, he turned down the steps which led to the temple. for the temple was, as has been said, in ruins. there was a heap of hewn stones on top of the earth, and that was all that showed from above. in front a stone staircase led down into a damp and evil-smelling place. after a minute's descent ned found himself in a long, narrow hall, which had at some time in the distant past formed the lobby of the temple. there was a cold wind blowing from somewhere in advance, and bats flew croakingly against it in their retreat from the intruders. ned heard the clang of a heavy door behind him. then the current of air was shut off. "this old barn of a place hasn't been used for a hundred years!" jimmie whispered, clutching ned by the arm. "what makes you think so?" asked ned. "if in use, there would be something here to show it," was the reply. "see, they haven't even got lights here. the ones they are now carrying were taken from the folds of their robes. and there would be no bats if the place was in constant use." "right you are, boy," ned whispered back. "but we knew what we were getting into. hark!" it was the dull, rolling sound of a drum that caused the exclamation. one of the men, far in advance, was evidently giving a signal. in a moment the shrill notes of a fife reached the ears of the boys. they waited for a moment, wondering, and then a burst of light came from some unseen quarter and the four men were seen standing in line on a rock which lifted above the sloping floor. "now for the ghosts!" whispered jimmie. "who's first?" chapter xii night in an ancient city frank shaw and jack bosworth, suddenly awakened from a sound sleep in the little mud shack in the cornfield, in the suburbs of tientsin, were not a little astonished at finding themselves rolled deftly out of the blankets in which they had wrapped themselves before lying down. "what's coming off here?" demanded frank, rubbing his eyes and gazing blankly about the hovel. "what kind of a hotel is this?" "what did you do that for?" asked jack, edging newer to frank. "why this midnight industry? what did you pull me out of me covers for?" "i didn't!" cried frank. "you pulled me out!" "not me!" jack answered. "i was catching german carp, in the upper lagoon in central park, n.y., just a second ago. sorry i woke up before i got a mess!" "who did it, then?" asked frank. "some one gave me a thump in the wind and then rolled me out of the drapery of me elegant couch." "search me!" jack replied. "i got something like that, also. i'll bet it's the blooming marines, playing an alleged joke! i'm going out to heave a rock at them." "wait!" whispered a voice. "don't make so much noise, either. you're pinched!" "that's bowery!" cried jack. "come on and show yourself!" frank commanded. "what are you hiding back there in the darkness for? who are you, and where did you come from? what did you wake me up for, anyway?" "black cat patrol, chicago!" was the reply that came through the darkness. "you're both black bears, new york," the voice went on. "i saw the badges on your vests." both boys sprang to their feet instantly. this was something worth while. a boy scout in china! "got a light?" asked frank. "i'll just like to see whether you're a black cat or not." "nix on the light," was the reply. "that's south clark street, below van buren," laughed jack. "all right," frank said, in answer to the boy's negative, "i've got a flashlight." "then keep it out of sight," advised the other. "i don't want to stir up these soldiers. perhaps they won't let you go with me." "oh, they won't?" jack grumbled. "we'll see! turn on your light, frank, old top!" frank, "old top." turned on his light, and the two saw a boy of apparently fifteen standing immediately in front of them. he was slender but muscular, and his red hair and blue eyes betokened anything but asiatic ancestors. the lad extended his right hand in full salute and waited. "correct!" jack said. "turn out your light, frank. sit down, kid, and tell us why this surprise party." "i came down to tell you that there's doin's up town," was the quick reply. "you'd better get a move on!" "we're ready," frank said, then, "but we'd like to know what we're going to move against." "your friends are in trouble. that's the answer." "how do you know?" "i have just left them at the telegraph office." "that's where they went." "well, that's where they're gettin' theirs," declared the lad. "so buck up!" "who--what--" "aw, come along!" the boy cut in. "they're goin' to be arrested, an' they won't get their cablegram, an' there'll be worse if you don't wake up. see?" "you'll have to explain to us," frank observed. "you go tell that to the marines!" jack exclaimed. "they're right outside there." "all right!" the lad answered. "i'm goin' back. you can all go to halifax for all me." "wait," said frank. "where did you get this information you're favoring us with? what's your name? how did you get to china?" "i'm a delivery boy at the telegraph office," the lad answered. "i loafed around there tonight to see you folks, for i knew that the cablegram would be called for. before showing myself, i heard what was going on an' ducked. now, come on." "what's your name?" "sandy mcnamara." "how did you get to china?" "hid in a ship an' got caught an' beat up." "a stowaway, eh?" "you bet! i'd do it again to get back to south clark street, in little old chi." "what they doing to ned and jimmie?" asked jack. "oh, come along!" frank exclaimed. "the boys may be in need of good advice and exclusive society! we'll go and see." "well," sandy put in, "this ain't no case for the bulls. you've got to get to them without makin' any show of fight. you'd be eat up in this town with them few soldiers." "what do you propose?" "why, we'll go to the american consul an' get him out." "you seem to be almost human in your intelligence," jack cried. "let go your anchor and heave ahead!" "we'll have to make good time," said sandy. "can you run?" "we're the original record-breakers when it comes to working our legs!" jack said, and the three, after moving quietly through the lighted circle, so as not to attract the attention of the guard, broke into a run which fast lessened the distance between the camp and the telegraph office. at the end of half a mile sandy drew up against a mud wall. the rain was still falling, and the boys were soaked to the skin and shivering with cold, notwithstanding their exertions. "i'm winded," sandy explained, panting. "i'm frozen stiff," jack declared. "i'm wet enough to swim home," frank put in. "well," sandy continued, "there's a little shack behind us--looks like one of the squatter shacks on the lake front--an' we can go in an' rest up. here's where the only friend i have in china lives." "go on in, then," jack replied, his teeth chattering with the cold. "we ought to keep on," frank advised. "this is no time to rest and get dry when ned is in trouble!" "that's right," from jack. "trot ahead, little one!" "i've got to go in here, anyway, an' get my uniform," the boy explained. "i'll be more protection to you boys if i have it on." "protection to us!" laughed jack. "you're a joker!" "hurry up, then, and get it," frank urged. "we've got to be getting along toward the telegraph office." "ain't you comin' in?" asked sandy. "no; we'll want to remain if we go in. hurry." "do you think he's on the level?" asked jack, as the boy disappeared through the low doorway. "i don't know," was the reply. "it doesn't seem as if an american lad, and a boy scout at that, would play a treacherous game against his own countrymen." "no, it doesn't; yet what is he stopping here for? he ought to be as anxious as we are to get over the ground." then sandy came stumbling to the door, on the inside, and asked the boys, through the rough boards, to come in with their lights. "there's somethin' mighty strange here," he said. "this may be a trap!" jack said. "shall we go in?" "we may need this boy as a guide," frank observed. "all right, then. in we go." there was only one room to the shack, which was of mud, with thick walls and a leaky roof. there was a table, a chair, a heap of clothes in a comer, and nothing else, save for a puddle of water on the floor. sandy stood in the middle of the floor, his feet in the puddle, when frank's searchlight illumined the bare room. his eyes were staring in a strange way and his face was deadly pale. "look there!" he exclaimed, his lips forming the words badly. "the old woman who fed me when i was broke an' sick lies under the clothes, stupid from some dope. the house has been poked over. i saw a face at the little hole in the wall as i came in. what does it mean?" whisperings were heard at the door. frank extinguished his light and the boys stood in darkness as complete as ever fell since the dawn of creation. "what do you think?" asked jack, of frank. "looks like a trap." sandy sprang forward and seized frank by the arm, and his voice shook as he began. "no! it ain't no trap! i didn't bring you here to get rolled for your wads, or anythin' like that. i stopped here to get me telegraph messenger uniform. i can go anywhere in the city with that on, and not be molested. i don't know what this means, but there are chinks all around this house." "perhaps you've been followed ever since you left the office," frank suggested. "where is your uniform?" "gone," replied sandy, "an' everythin' else i had in that old box in the corner." frank walked to the door and opened it a trifle. there was no need to open it wider to see what kind of trouble they were in. in front, patient in the downpour, stood six chinamen. the flashlight dwelt on the silent row for an instant and was then turned off. frank closed the door and stood with his back against it. "is there another way out?" he asked. sandy pointed to a small door at the rear. frank opened it a trifle, as he had the other, and again the flashlight bored a round hole in the night. there were six chinamen there. "they mean to keep us here!" jack cried. "i'll show them." "i hear them all around the place," sandy almost sobbed. "you'll think i brought you here for this. i didn't! i'm on the square with you boys. i wanted to help you." "perhaps they'll go away soon," jack suggested. "never!" frank replied. "this is purely an oriental shut-in! they will wait out there until the hot summer tans their hides if they are told to. the patience of the orient is something awful to run up against." "but why?" asked jack. "oh, they got next to me!" sandy observed. "they want to keep you from goin' to the assistance of your friends. they'll let you go after they've found some mysterious way of disposing of the others. if i could get out, i'd go to the camp." "dig around! there may be some way of getting out. these slant-eyed peoples are slant-eyed in their ways. there may be a hole under the hut that leads somewhere." "i've seen the woman go down cellar," said sandy. "then you go down cellar," advised frank, "and see if there is no way out from there. i'm bound to get to ned and jimmie if i have to begin operations with my gun." presently sandy's voice was heard from below. he said that he felt a current of air, as if there were a passage leading outside. "come on down an' see," he said. the boys went down a steep ladder, after fastening both doors on the inside, and soon found themselves on the cellar bottom. frank turned on his flashlight and looked about. there was a hole in one of the walls which seemed to lead downward, in the direction of the river. "i'm going to try it," jack exclaimed, taking out his light. "when i say for you to come on, come a-running." he said for them to come on in a moment, and sandy and frank soon found themselves in a square subterranean room which must have been cut near the surface and just outside the wall of the hut. it was a comfortless place, and they lost no time in looking for a way out. "here it is!" sandy called out, directly. "here is a tunnel. say, but i never knew about this before. come on!" frank led, but proceeded only a short distance. then his light rested on the grinning face of a chinaman. the tunnel was guarded. the boy turned back and looked into the tunnel by which they had entered the chamber. within a foot of the muzzle of his searchlight he saw the grinning face of another chinaman. he stepped back to the mouth of the tunnel and motioned jack to guard the exit, explaining, briefly, that they had been trapped, not in a hut on the street level, but in a subterranean chamber where they could not be heard, and where no one would ever think of looking for them. "oh, no," jack cried, regarding sandy angrily, "you didn't know anything about this--not a thing! you treacherous dog!" "i didn't! i didn't!" shouted the boy. "call them men in an' ask them if i did." "you wait a minute," jack gritted out, "and i'll see if the chinks will stand quiet while i beat their accomplice up!" "quit it!" frank commanded. "we're in trouble enough now, without bringing the chinks down on us. i'd give a good deal to know if ned and jimmie are still alive!" chapter xiii a vanishing diplomat ned turned to the captain as the men in slate-colored robes lifted their hands after the manner of fake mystics the world over. he was not uninterested, but he was anxious. they were now some distance from the grove in which the camp breakfast had been prepared, and the grove, in turn, was some distance from the highway. they were also some feet under ground, where any calls for assistance that might be necessary would be muffled by the hewn stone and the damp air and earth. besides, the alleged priests had mapped out this scene before the arrival of the boys, as ned believed. therefore they might have half a hundred natives within call, prepared to do murder if necessary. the marines had been ordered by the captain to gradually surround the temple, to guard every entrance that could be discovered, and to force their way in if anything of a suspicious nature occurred. ned did not know the men as well as he knew the captain, therefore he asked: "the men will obey your orders to the letter? you see, we are in a box here!" "they will obey," said the officer. "what do you make of the mummery now going on?" the "mummery" consisted in slow, gliding motions, in whirlings about intended to be graceful, in slow liftings of the hands upward, and in the beating of the drums. "i don't make anything of it," ned replied. "i take it they are waiting for time. perhaps they got us in here with less trouble than they had figured on, and are waiting for confederates." "what a land!" mused the captain. "what a way to seek the destruction of any enemy! an italian would have stabbed us in the back on the way in here, a frenchman would have set a band of bullies upon us in the grove, an american would have walked up and made observations with his bare fists!" "this is oriental!" smiled ned. "i wish we were well out of this hole in the ground!" "i see," began the man with the star on the breast of his dirty gown, "that you are in trouble of mind concerning the loss of two companions." "correct!" shouted the irrepressible jimmie. "come across with them-right soon, old hoss!" "i see," continued the other, not noticing the interruption, "that you are here in a weighty matter--a matter affecting the peace of nations." jimmie was primed for another outbreak of conversation, but ned caught him by the arm and ordered him to remain silent. "i see," the alleged seer went on, "that you have met with difficulties and perils on the way. is this true?" "all true," ned answered. "then approach. enter the holy room and receive instruction which shall be of benefit." ned hesitated a moment. "and my friends?" he asked. "the spirit speaks to but one," was the reply. "what a lot of rot!" whispered jimmie. "you go on, an' i'll be there in a second if there is anything like rough house." with a warning look in the captain's direction, the boy advanced to the platform of rock. from there he was directed to a door cut in what, seemed to be soft earth and framed with timbers. the timbers were new. he saw that at a glance, and drew his own conclusions. ned was glad to see that the man who had done all the speaking was the only one to accompany him into the side room. in a contest of muscles, he thought he could hold his own pretty well with this fellow. ned was prepared for almost anything, but what took place next filled him with astonishment. the room was just a hole out in the earth. it did not appear to have been a part of the old temple. there were in it a board table, roughly put together, two chairs, and a square box, perhaps five feet in length by one and a half in the other proportions. as soon as the door was closed the alleged priest threw aside his slate-colored robe, snatched a wig and beard from his head and face, and stood forth a handsome man, dressed in the costume of a modern englishman or american. at first ned did not recognize the smiling face which confronted him. then there came to his mind the memory of a time in canton when he had watched a meeting of men he believed to be in conspiracy against his country. this face certainly had been there. the voice was low, smooth, musical. ned stood looking at the subtle countenance, but said not a word. "you are caught at last!" came next. still ned stood silent, saying not a word, only wondering if the time for final action had arrived--if the captain outside was in such peril as threatened himself. "rather a bright boy," sneered the other, "only not bright enough to understand that men of the world are not to be defeated in their long-cherished plans by the kindergarten class. do you know where your two friends are--the two who accompanied you here?" "i presume that they are quite capable of taking care of themselves," ned replied. "they are on the road to a dungeon in peking." "from first to last," ned said, "from my first connection with this case up to this hour, i have come upon only bluffers and liars. you seem to be making good in both lines." "not so rude, kid," laughed the other. "you've certainly got nerve to address such words to one who holds your life, and the lives of your friends, in his hand." "if you do," ned said, "if you really have the power of life and death you claim to have, there is no hope for any of us." "figure it out in your own way," said the other, "but, so far as the power of life and death is concerned, you hold the lives of your friends in your own hands." "i understand what you mean," the boy replied, "but i'm not for sale. go ahead with your procession! death looks pretty good to me, as compared with the disgrace of asking a favor from one of your stripe." ned's words, purposely designed to enrage the fellow, struck fire at last, and he said what he never would have said in calmer moments. "i'll show you that death is not so pleasant a thing as you seem to imagine!" he almost shouted. "i'll show you how to learn the lesson of supplication! when the future of a nation is at stake, human lives do not count. what are the lives of a dozen or more to the prosperity of millions? you have information which is needed, in the interest of humanity, and even torture shall be resorted to if it can be obtained in no other way." "and so," ned replied, calmly, "you are not merely a tool. as i supposed, you are one of the men at the head of the conspiracy. you are the man i came upon at canton. you are the wretch who is trying to involve two continents in war. well, i hope to meet you under less trying circumstances!" the other laughed harshly and walked to the door. listening with his ear against the rough boards for an instant, he opened it a trifle and glanced out. ned heard sounds of a struggle there, and was about to spring forward when his captor faced him with a provoking smile. "by the way," he said, "i neglected to inform you that one threatening movement will mean instant death to you. i am opposed to any bully-like display of weapons, preferring to discuss this question with you without coercion, but i took the precaution to place a rifleman at an opening in one of the walls of this room. he has you 'covered,' as the saying is, and so it is advisable for you to remain passive." "what is going on out there?" demanded ned. "your people seem to be protesting against leaving the place under escort," laughed the other. "the two you left at the camp in the cornfield were not so hard to control." "you seem to have a good knowledge of a our movements," said ned. "you have a spy system well in hand here." "that is refreshing, as coming from the mouth of a spy," retorted the other. "if you are ready to talk business," he added, closing the door, "i am ready to make a proposition." "if your time and your breath are worth anything," the boy replied, "you may as well save both." "you have possession of certain documents taken from a certain wreck in the pacific ocean?" ned made no reply. "you possess certain information concerning an alleged plot." still no response from the boy. "without you, your government can make no headway in the investigation now on foot." ned dropped into a chair and turned his face away with a well assumed air of indifference. really, he was anxious for the man to go on, to say just how important were the papers and the information. "we have it in our power to prevent the information you possess ever reaching your government, but the documents you have we cannot get in the usual way. therefore we are offering you terms." "naturally," ned smiled. "promise to restore the papers and forever remain silent as to what you have learned since you undertook this case, and you shall all go free, with more money than you ever dreamed of having in your hands." "you have not stated the case fully," ned said, when the other concluded, with a superior air. "you have not mentioned a certain alleged diplomat. you want me to forget all that he has said and done in the matter." "naturally. i said that you were to forget everything connected with the case." "i prefer," ned replied, "to see you on the gallows for murder." the other started violently. "then this is final?" there came a sound resembling the report of firearms from the outer room. at the same time ned caught a movement behind the south wall of the room. the gunman mentioned by the diplomat was evidently leaving his post for the purpose of joining in any struggle which might be taking place. the boy thought fast for a moment. if the marines had fought their way into the outer room they would soon be knocking at the rough door that separated the two apartments. in that case the man before him would do one of two things. he would try to fight his way out of the room, or he would try to escape by some exit not at that time in sight. in the first instance he might wound or kill one or more of the marines. in the latter, he might be able to conceal himself in some underground passage and finally escape. it seemed to ned that the one thing for him to do was to attack the fellow and endeavor to disarm him. the noises of conflict in the outer room grew more distinct, and ned, observing that the diplomat was glancing restlessly about, as if seeking some means of escape, sprang upon him. instead of turning and defending himself, the fellow struggled to release himself from the boy's hold, and to make his way toward a section of the wall on the south. the statement that a rifleman had been stationed somewhere there now came back to the boy's mind, and he knew that there must be a passage behind that wall. the man with whom ned was struggling was evidently unarmed, for he fought only with his hands and feet. he tried by all the tricks known to wrestlers to break away from the boy, or to hurl him to the floor, but ned had skill as well as strength, and all such efforts proved unavailing. while this silent struggle was going on, the rough door came crashing in and a score of chinamen, evidently fleeing from an enemy, rushed in and flocked toward that south wall. ned and his enemy were trampled under foot for a moment, then the room was clear save for a half dozen marines who stood in the doorway, their smoking guns in their hands. ned's head whirled from a blow he had received, and there was a numb feeling in one of his arms, but he arose to his feet and glanced around. jimmie stood with the marines, a grin on his freckled face. "gee whiz!" he shouted, "how that man did go!" "which man?" demanded ned. "why didn't some one follow him?" "he just went through that wall," jimmie answered. "when i tried to follow him i bumped me nose! say, but he went right through that old wall!" "where did the chinks go?" asked ned. "down through the floor!" was the reply. "but, say, did you ever see anythin' like that vanishin' priest? i'll bet a pie he's forty miles away right this minute." when ned and the marines took up the search for the diplomat and the chinese, it did seem that they were forty miles away! there were numerous passages under the old temple, and in these the fugitives must have hidden. "how did you know?" asked ned of the marines who had broken into the underground rooms. "how did you know there was danger inside?" "that little imp of a jimmie," one of the men said, "came to the entrance and shouted fit to wake the dead. they were trying to carry the captain and the kid away. bright boy, that!" two of the marines had been slightly wounded by knives in the hands of the chinese, but they declared themselves quite well enough to go on with the journey. "the chinks didn't fight," one of them said. "they just threw knives and ran! we never hit one of them! sheep, that's what they are! just sheep!" "well," ned said, "we've lost our chance on the road to peking, the fellow we want having escaped, so we must go ahead and set the rat trap once more." "you'll walk if you do," one of the marines said, showing from the outside, "for the chinks have made off with the motorcycles!" chapter xiv sandy proves his case "they'll be dead if you don't get out of here an' do somethin'!" said sandy. "the chinks'll eat 'em up!" frank looked around the dismal subterranean chamber and a cynical smile came to his lips. "we might get out of here," he said, "if we had a ton of dynamite. i don't know but i'd take a chance on getting injured myself in order to see these chinks sailing into the sky." jack, still suspicious of sandy, turned toward him with a frown. the lad met the other's eyes steadily. "do you know the way out of this?" jack asked. "no," admitted the boy. "never was in here before. never knew there was such a place." "well," jack went on, "the longer we remain here the longer we'll be in finding our chums. i'm going to make a break." "if you have a gun," sandy said, calmly, "i'll go ahead with it. if i get plugged, or anythin' like that, you boys may be able to get away. these chinks are quick to run if there is danger ahead, and i think i can scare them off. give me the gun!" sandy reached out his hand, but frank did not extend the gun he had taken from his pocket. "you're nervy, all right," he said, "but you don't have to take all the risk. suppose we wait until daylight and then make a rush?" "why daylight?" asked jack. "there may then be some friendly face in sight, if we are able to get to the street." "there's force in that," jack replied, "but this is no palace car to wait in." "you let me go and try," sandy urged. frank shook his head gravely. "no use," he said. "there are probably a score or more of chinks around this old shack. we've got to wait until morning before we try to get away. the only question in my mind is this: will they let us alone until daylight? if they don't, then it will be a scrap." the boys sat down against the earth wall of the chamber and waited. now and then they could hear whispers in a tongue they could not understand. occasionally they heard a wagon creaking along the distant street. then they knew that the doors connecting the mud hut with the outer world were open. "i wonder if old chee is still asleep from the dope?" sandy asked, after a long time had passed. "why did they dope her?" asked jack. "i don't see any nourishment for them in that." "guess they thought i'd be apt to help you boys," sandy replied, "and made up their minds to catch me and chuck me away somewhere. chee's a nervy old lady, an' probably scrapped when they searched for me. i'd like to help her." "why do you call her chee?" "because she's so cheerful, an' because i don't know her name," was the reply. "it must be pretty near dawn," jack said, after a long silence, with a prodigious yawn. frank looked at his watch and found that it was six o'clock. it had been a long night. the sun would rise shortly after six. five minutes later sounds of trouble of a physical nature were heard along the tunnel by which the chamber had been reached. there were blows, grunts, and ejaculations of rage. then they heard a voice they knew: "donner! i make your face preak! come py mine punch of fives. oh, you loaver!" "hans!" cried jack. "how the old harry did he get here?" "he'll soon be able to tell you himself," frank said, "if he keeps on coming." indeed, the german's voice came nearer every instant, nearer and more emphatic. he was panting, too, and the sound of blows reached the ears of the listening boys. "get in there!" the words were spoken in english, but not by hans. "there's that gink who rounded us up back in taku," exclaimed jack. "he seems to be winning all the tricks. i wonder how he got hold of hans?" "i thought dutchy was back with the submarine," frank replied. "how he got to tientsin is a mystery to me." the next moment hans' broad face, now red from anger and exertion, appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, looking like a full moon, and then his bulky figure was projected violently into the chamber. he scrambled in on his knees, but arose instantly and swung his fists in the direction of the tunnel, shouting imprecations on some out-of-sight person. there were numerous cuts and bruises on his face from which blood was oozing, and his clothing was torn and dirty, as if it had been dragged through the mud. "loaver! loaver!" he shouted, still shaking his clenched fist at the entrance. "vait a liddle, yet! i eats dern alife!" "i wish you would!" cried jack. "give me a bite while you are at it," sandy cut in. hans gazed around in bewilderment for a time, and then his face brightened as he caught sight of frank and jack. it did not take the lads long to arrive at a mutual understanding of the happenings of the night. hans had been followed from the place where he had left the other boys and captured. he did not know what had become of ned and the others any more than frank and jack did. his story brought some relief to the others, for it was presumable that their chums were now well on their way to peking. once there, the imprisoned lads knew that every effort for their release would be made-then the whole power of the united states government, through the ambassador, would be exerted in their behalf. "but what's the use of all that," jack asked, grumblingly--for he was getting hungry! "what's the use of all that if the chinks sit out there like blooming cigar-store images and never give a hint as to where we are? we are likely to starve before the american ambassador can act with success." hans rubbed his stomach protectingly. "empty!" he said. "i could eats a schinks!" "eat one for me," advised jack. sandy, who had been listening in silence to the explanations which had been made, now asked: "how many chinks are there out there?" "army!" answered hans. this was discouraging, for, as has already been stated, the boys were meditating a rush as soon as the city was astir. they did not anticipate much help from bystanders, even if they should gain the street, but they knew that such a ruction as they would be able to put up would attract the attention of the authorities, and so bring the matter before the courts. while they talked the chances over, another breeze of trouble blew in from the entrance tunnel. an argument of some kind was in progress between the men stationed there. sandy moved forward to the mouth of the dark hole and listened. the argument was being carried on in the language of the country, but now and then a few words in english were heard. "i tell you they got away, slick and clean!" the englishman said, as sandy listened. a mumbling of native talk, and then another sentence: "and some one will be here directly." jack, who had heard the words, turned to frank with a grin. "is that a promise or a threat?" he asked. "i think our friends are coming," frank replied. "they can never find us in this hole," jack complained. "suppose we make a little noise?" "if they are headed this way, they know where we are," frank said, "and it seems as if we ought to wait for them.". "i'll starve!" muttered jack. "i could eat a fried telegraph pole, and like it!" "i eat since yesterday only plue sky!" hans contributed. "my pelly makes argument mit my konscience! but?" sandy sat dejectedly by the wall and said nothing. he knew that he was still suspected of leading the boys into the trap in which they now found themselves, and was studying over plans to assist them out and at the same time establish his innocence. it seemed to the lads that a whole day passed without a single thing to break the monotony, but frank's watch insisted that it was only eleven o'clock. it was dark most of the time in the chamber, for the boys were saving of their flashlight batteries. finally one of the plans which had been slowly maturing in sandy's brain brought the lad into action. noiselessly he crept away from the little group and moved on his hands and knees, along the tunnel leading to the cellar of the old mud house. he reasoned that that point would not be so closely guarded as the exit would be; also that ned and his companions, if they returned to the city in quest of the boys and sought the mud house, would be more apt to be watching the house itself than the exit, which was some distance away from the road. after proceeding a few feet, sandy stopped and listened. there were no indications of human presence in the tunnel ahead, or in the cellar, which was not far away now, and from which a faint light shone. when the boy reached the entrance to the cellar he saw three chinamen lying on the earth floor, either asleep or under the influence of opium. it did not take the lad long to make up his mind as to which one of the causes, sleep or opium, had put his guards off their guard. there was a strong odor of opium in the cellar, and a closer examination of the place showed him that the watchmen had been "hitting the pipe," as the boys on south clark street, chicago, would have expressed it. however, the way did not seem to be clear, for there were soft footsteps on the patch of board floor which covered a part of the cellar, and then a chinaman backed down the ladder. he came down slowly and stood for an instant on the cellar floor before looking around. when at last he saw the men asleep on the floor he muttered some jargon which sandy could not understand and turned back to the ladder again. sandy believed that the man he saw was the only one the "pipe" had left on guard. if he could prevent him reaching the street, he might be able to get the other boys out of the trap in which they had been caught. the chinaman seemed large and strong, but sandy would have taken even greater chances in order to convince the boys that he was not their enemy, so he sprang upon him. the struggle was a desperate one for a time, for sandy was not very strong as compared with his opponent, and the man he was fighting with fought viciously. sandy did not dare cry out to the boys in the chamber for help, for that might bring other enemies into the fight. the only way seemed to be to conquer the chinaman and then get the boys into the street as silently as possible. once there, they would have little difficulty in making their way out of the city. it is quite probable that sandy would have come off second best in the encounter if jack had not heard the racket the two made and came into the cellar with a bound. the two boys soon had the chinaman down and well tied up. "you're a brick, sandy," jack said, as the boys faced each other in the dim light. "while we sat in there waiting for some one to get us out, you got a move on and did something! say," he added, with a grin, "ain't this tie-up game getting stale? suppose we knock this fellow on the head? he may get away if we don't. and these others? think they are sufficiently soused with opium?" "they won't make any trouble for a long time," sandy answered. "it is a wonder they got into such a trance! there must have been something stronger than opium in their pipes." "didn't know there was anything meaner than opium," jack said. "there is a drug that is used by old soaks after the poppy stuff gets too mild for them," replied sandy. "perhaps these men got some of that. keep quiet, boys!" this last as frank and hans came through the tunnel and stood staring at the men on the floor and their chums. "who did it?" asked frank. "sandy did it!" answered jack. "ain't he the broth of a lad? sure he's the goods." "perhaps we'd better be getting out," sandy observed. "i hear some one upstairs. they're comin' down here, too." chapter xv why escape was so easy as sandy finished speaking two figures dropped down the ladder, not stopping to descend rung by rung. as they landed on the floor the boys sprang toward them, ready to make a battle for their liberty. then came another surprise. instead of making hostile demonstrations, the two newcomers, chinamen so far as appearances went, threw up their hands and dropped back against the wall. then shouts of laughter echoed through the place. directly the newcomers seemed to forget to keep their hands up, for they gripped their waists with them and roared. there was something about the laughter, too, which was not at all like the orient. "go it!" jack exclaimed. "have your fun before we come to settlement with you," frank threatened. "let me soak heem!" hans pleaded. sandy stood by with wonder showing in his face. "what kind of a play house is this?" he asked. and still the others laughed, bending over, now, and covering their faces with their hands. the change from tragedy to comedy had been so sudden that for a time the boys did nothing at all to solve the mystery of the sudden outbreak of laughter. then frank stepped closer and peered down at the larger of the two figures. then he turned his searchlight on the bowed head. then a smile came over his face and he reached out a hand and took the bobbing pigtail into his hand and gave it a quick jerk. the result was amazing. the pigtail came away in his hand, and with it a bunch of coarse hair and an odor! "look here, kids!" frank cried. "look who's here!" it was ned, and the shaking figure by his side was that of jimmie. in a moment both were out of their disguises and making an inspection of the tunnels and the underground chamber. "you've got herlock sholmes beaten to a frazzle," said jack, as ned stooped over to examine the knocked-out chinamen. "how did you do it?" demanded frank. "we thought you were on the road to peking until we heard some of the chinks talking, not long after daybreak, then we thought you might be in trouble." "it was long after daybreak when we mixed with the bunch," jimmie answered. "anythin' you heard before eight o'clock was fright an' not fact." sandy was now presented and his share in the adventures of the night given proper recognition. "i thought he was a sneak at first," jack explained, "but he showed us the way out in the end." "what did you go an' sit down there an' wait for?" asked jimmie. "why didn't you get a move on?" "they did the very thing they should have done," ned remarked. "if they had tried to fight their way out they might have been killed,' as there was, i am told, a strong guard here at daybreak." "but how did you get here?" asked frank. "when we got out of the old temple," ned replied, "we had no motorcycles to go on with, so we came back to hunt up more. there was little use in going on by any way other than the one mapped out for us. "the scamp we almost captured had been kind enough to tell us that you boys were in trouble and perhaps that had something to do with our coming back." "but how did you get here?" "easy," laughed ned. "we knew that you boys had been captured, and it was easy to see who had had a hand in it. the people at the telegraph office would know more about the matter than any one else. "so we went to the american consulate and got into these disguises. the consul says he never saw anything smoother, though he must be prejudiced in our favor, for he helped get up the disguises himself. "then we went to the vicinity of the telegraph office and waited. in a moment we saw that something unusual was going on. directly a messenger started off in this direction and we followed him. i knew then, as well as i know it now, that you boys had been detained in the hope of keeping us all out of peking, so i bought some strong opium on the way and doped the pipes of the guards after i mixed with them." "how could you mix with them?" asked jack. "you know about as much chinese as a robin." "oh, they thought we were sullen brutes sent down from their headquarters, and took us into their confidence all right. we were just ready to explore the underground places when we heard the scrap below." "and now what?" asked frank. "now, we're goin' to peking!" cried jimmie. "you said that before!" jack taunted. "well, we didn't get tied up in a hole we couldn't get out of," retorted the little fellow. "i guess you'd have been in the old temple until now if you hadn't traveled with an escort," jack cut in. the boys, laughing and "roasting" each other, passed up the ladder and to the half earthen, half-board floor of the mud hut. there they found the woman chee moving about with a swollen face. she tried to talk with ned, but as neither could understand what the other said, little progress was made. however, she finally managed to make ned understand that she wanted him to take the unconscious men out of the cellar, also the man who had been tied up by jack and sandy. ned finally made her understand that she could call the police half an hour after their departure. this seemed to satisfy her, and the piece of silver ned presented was received with many gestures of gratitude. "won't the finding of them men there get her into trouble?" asked sandy, as the lads walked away. "i'll explain the matter to the american consul," answered ned, "and ask him to inform the authorities. you see, these people who are making us all this trouble are about as afraid of the officers as they are of us. the government is keeping a sharp lookout for the revolutionary leaders, and some are captured every day." "what do they do with them?" asked jack. "they are never heard of again." "murdered? without trial?" "that is the belief." "then why don't we ask this good, wise, benevolent, sane, and all the rest of it government to keep the revolutionary party off uncle sam?" asked jack. "we represent uncle samuel, you know." "because," was the reply, "there are spies in every branch and department of the government. while the traitors who are serving the government while seeking its destruction may not be powerful enough to secure the release of such confederates as are caught, they are undoubtedly able to send out reports calculated to assist their party." "and every move we made under the protection of the chinese government would be noted and reported," mused jack. "i see how it is! guess the people at washington knew what they were about when they issued instructions regarding the trip to peking." "yes, i think they did," ned replied. "observe how they tested us. we did not know about the cablegram at the office here when we started on our long ride. if we had weakened in any way we never should have known about it, but would have been ordered back home." "land flowing with milk and honey, and breakfast foods, and choice beef cuts at a dollar a pound!" jack exclaimed now. "are we never going to get anything to eat?" "i haf one vacancy!" observed hans, laying a hand on his stomach. "i haf a misery!" "you had a good breakfast, jack!" reproved frank. "what! where! what was it? yes, i haf a breakfast two days ago. this morning i haf cellar air for breakfast. it isn't nourishing. where is there an eatery?" before long ned stopped at a little tea house where an american sign hung in a window, and the boys ordered such viands as the place afforded. it was not much of a meal, as jack insisted, but just a teaser for a dinner which would be procured later on. "where are the marines?" asked frank, as he and ned seated themselves at a little table apart from the others. "encamped in the grove," was the reply. "they will not be attacked there?" asked frank, in some amazement. "certainly not. all chinamen hate us, but we are safe except when the revolutionists take a hand in the game. the marines are probably surrounded by a crowd of sullen curiosity seekers, but they will not be molested unless the revolutionists decide to take another chance with them." "and the machines are gone for good?" "no, the american consul is getting them back, or was when i left his office, one by one. the men who were fighting were too frightened to take the machines with them, but the mob got them. they were taken by individual thieves, and will soon be restored." "we ought to have come over in our aeroplane," smiled frank. "that would have defeated our purpose," ned replied. "we are here to catch the leaders of this conspiracy, and the only way we can do it is to wait until they show themselves. "just see how foolish they are!" ned went on. "if they had been content to wait, to manufacture such evidence as they needed to show their innocence, we could never have located them. they would have lied us out of countenance if we charged any one man with being the leader, or any one nation with fostering the conspiracy. "but they tried to make a clean record for themselves by wiping us off the face of the earth and so showed themselves to us. i am told by police officers that if criminals would keep away from women, away from the scenes of their crimes, and keep their mouths shut when given the famous--and disgraceful--third degree, not one in twenty would ever be convicted." "well," frank said, "here's hoping that the man we want will come within reach again!" after breakfast the boys headed for the american consulate, where they found the machines which had been stolen. "that was quick work," ned congratulated. "how did you do it?" the consul laughed. "why," he replied, "you might as well try to bide a fifty story building in china as one of those machines! the natives believe the devil is in them!" "i've known americans to express the same opinion," laughed frank. while they talked with the consul a message was brought him from the telegraph office. it read: "report progress." ned laughed. "nothing to report but disaster," he said. "well," the consul replied, "we expected something of the kind. you have gained the very point we expected you to gain. you know exactly who is at the head of this mess. thinking he had you where you would never get away, he talked too much." "i think i should know him in any disguise," ned said. "i should know him anywhere, and under any circumstances. do you think he would have kept faith with me if i had given up the documents and promised never to implicate either his country or himself in the trouble?" "certainly not. the fact that he revealed himself to you shows that he meant to have you murdered there. only for the marines breaking in just as they did, it would have been all off with you, my boy." "he must be a treacherous old chap!" ned commented. "his life and everything he loves is at stake." "then he should have kept out of the mess! why should he want to get us into a war?" "my boy," replied the consul, "we are sure to have a war with some great european nation before many years." "because the people are getting too thick over here. because they are going to america in droves. because the governments of europe desire to retain control of their people after they leave the confines of their own countries. they want english, german, russian, italian, french colonies held under their hand instead of a mass of their subjects doing reverence to a foreign flag." "and they will fight for that?" "of course. the only way we can keep out of a great and disastrous war is to abandon the philippines, throw our island possessions to the dogs, and tumble the monroe doctrine into the sea. then these foreign nations can buy, steal, or conquer all south and central america. we don't want the land there, and we can't afford to fight for the dagoes who live there." "there is too much jingo in our country to ever do what you suggest," ned suggested. "i'm afraid you are right," the consul replied. "but now to business. get your machines here and mount them! you are to leave for peking to-night." "and i'll not come back until i reach the town!" declared the boy. "by the way," said the consul, "where are the papers you took from the captain of the shark--the boat you fought with your submarine?" "i have them here," was the reply. "better leave them in my safe." ned consented to this, and later, on the march to peking, he was very glad that he had done. at twilight the boys joined the flying squadron, and were all off for the imperial city, little suspecting that the perils before them were greater than any they had encountered. chapter xvi a bit of sealing wax the night grew clearer as the flying squadron advanced toward the imperial city of china. the roads were rough in places, but the superb machines carried the boys and their companions at good speed. it may well be imagined that the party created something of a sensation as it whirled along. the constant popping of the engines, the strong lights which flashed ahead, and the voices of the marines brought many a sleepy-faced chinaman to the door of his home. now and then the boys were hailed from the roadside, but little attention was paid to these calls. finally, however, a voice addressed the party in english. "where are you going?" it asked. ned instructed the captain to proceed a few paces with his company and then halted to see what manner of man it was that spoke to him in that tongue. he found an old chinaman, a wise-looking old fellow with a keen face, leaning over a rude gate in front of a small house. "did you speak?" he asked, advancing to the gate. "i did," was the reply. "i was curious to know where you were going in the middle of the night." "you speak english remarkably well," ned said, not in any hurry to satisfy the old fellow's curiosity. "i ought to," was the reply. "i have just come back from new york. i owned a laundry there for a good many years." "and have returned to china to live in peace and comfort?" "i don't know about the peace," replied the chinaman, with a sigh. "you think there will be a war?" the chinaman nodded. "the coming revolt," he declared, "was conceived more than two hundred years ago. for fifty years organization has been going on. for six years the revolutionists have been working as a whole." "and they are strong?" asked ned. "wherever in the world chinamen live, in new york, chicago, san francisco, boston, london, berlin, st. petersburg, anywhere, everywhere, there are funds being collected for the coming civil war." ned wanted to ask the loquacious old fellow what his private ideas about the justice of the struggle were, but he decided not to do so. he thought he might find out in another way. "and the revolutionists will win?" he asked. "god forbid!" was the reply, and the boy had the answer he thought he would receive. still, he was not satisfied that the old fellow was telling the exact truth regarding his sentiments. it was the revolutionists he had to battle with, and not the federalists. this retired laundryman might know that! "anyway," the boy thought, "the fellow seems desirous of keeping me here as long as possible. this, of course, may be because of a desire for the companionship of one of the race he has lived with so long, but i do not think so." pretending to be deeply interested in what the chinaman was saying, he excused himself for a moment and beckoned to jimmie. "lead your motorcycle noiselessly up that rise of ground," he directed, "and when you get there keep your eyes wide open." "what for?" demanded the boy. "for whatever comes in sight," replied ned. "keep the line of vision from this house to whatever may be beyond unimpaired if it is possible to do so. if you observe anything unusual, report to me." "all righto!" cried the boy. ned saw jimmie making a noiseless progress up the little hill and turned back to the man at the gate. instantly the latter offered refreshments, for the entire party, and seemed disappointed when the offer was declined. "you're going to peking on business?" the chinaman finally asked. "yes," was the short answer. "why do you ride in the night?" "because we must get there in the morning." "but there is another day." "always there is another day in the far east," ned smiled, "but we of the west count only on what we can do before that other day arrives." the two talked on for half an hour, while the marines muttered complaints and frank and jack rolled themselves in blankets and tried to pay a visit to dreamland. the previous night had been a hard one, and they felt the need of more rest than they had been able to get during the afternoon. after a time ned became anxious. he had sent jimmie on ahead with the notion that something was going to happen there within a short time. but all was still about the house and the small fields which surrounded it. jimmie did not return. "i wonder if the little scamp is in trouble again?" thought ned. this seemed to be the natural solution of the puzzle of his long absence, and ned was about to send frank on after him when the little fellow came up to him. "the captain wants you to get a move on," the boy said. ned saw that jimmie had something to say to him which was not for the ears of the chinaman, and walked away, followed by the urgent voice of the former laundryman, who besought him to return and partake of refreshments. "in honor of old new york!" he added. "gee!" jimmie muttered, as the boys stood alone together. "i was thinkin' i'd struck the fourth of july." "where?" "up on the hill." "so, they were using rockets?" "yes." "where did they ascend from?" "from the other side of the hill, at this end, and from an old house at the other end." ned stood for a moment without speaking. so the chinaman had been holding him in conversation while his tools had been signaling to some one farther up the road! this was practically what he had suspected. from the first he had believed that the old fellow's purpose was to hold him there as long as possible. signals would naturally be the outgrowth of such a plan, and ned had sent jimmie on ahead--silently--in order to see where the other party answered the signals from, if they were answered at all. as from the opening of the case, he had planned to secure his information from his enemies--from their actions and their presence or absence from the position he occupied. directing the marines to follow on slowly, ned awoke frank and jack. the four climbed the hill slowly, watching the sky as they advanced. the clouds lay low to the east, but in the west was a patch of clear sky. when they gained the summit of the rise, they saw a light in a little grove some distance away. it seemed like a lantern moving out and in among the trees. "there," jimmie explained, "when i got to the top of the hill, i saw a rocket shoot out of that thicket. it did not ascend the sky, but follow the line of the earth and died out in the road." "of course," ned said. "a rocket sent up in the usual way would have been visible from where we were standing." "and, in a minute," the boy went on, "there came a rocket from that house, the house where the light was a minute ago. that, too, followed the ground line." "talking together in low tones!" grinned jack. "they were talkin' together, all right," jimmie said. "dollars to dumplings," frank exclaimed, "that the funny chap we met in the old mud house at taku has a room in that shack." "he might have been hiding there," ned said. "an' that old stiff signaled to him to make his getaway?" asked the little fellow. "looks like it," ned replied. "huh!" jack objected. "the signals might have told the men at the other end of the line to get their soldiers out and bump us off the continent." "which idea," responded frank, "causes me to want to approach that house with all due caution and respect." "suppose we four surround it," suggested jimmie. "that's the idea!" jack commented. "just what i was about to propose," said wed. "we'll leave the marines within call and go up to this temporary signal station and see what about it." the captain was communicated with, and then the four left the road and moved around toward the rear of the house, keeping in the shadows of the trees. not until they reached the very door of the place were there any signs of life there. the lantern they had observed from a distance was seen no more. the windows were dark and silent. but when they came to the door they found it unlocked. as the crude latch was lifted, with a very slight creaking sound, a movement was heard inside, and then a heavy body was heard striking the ground at the rear. then a was as silent as before. "someone jumped out of a window!" jimmie whispered. "i hope he broke his crust!" there was to be no defense of the place, then! whoever the inmates had been, they were deserting the house. ned stationed frank and jack at the front and moved around to the rear with jimmie close behind. a rustle in the undergrowth told him that the former occupants of the place were still about. jimmie darted in the direction of the noise, but was back again in a minute. "might as well try to chase a ghost!" he said. "got clear away, did he?" asked ned. "you know it!" grunted the little fellow. frank and jack were now heard in the house, and the rays of a searchlight showed at a window, showed very faintly in cracks, for there was a heavy wooden shutter to the window on the inside. ned tried the rear door. it was not locked and he entered. the house was deserted, but it was not unfurnished. indeed, articles of furniture scattered about the rooms, which were in great disorder, denoted not only wealth but a refined taste. there were velvet rugs on the floors and great easy chairs and lounging divans. a pantry revealed unwashed dishes, showing that food had been served there recently. "who was it that ran away?" asked jack, as the boys met. "a ghost!" replied jimmie. "i chased him until he hid in a tree." "why didn't you pull him out?" grinned jack. "because he turned into a green cow with purple wings!" the little fellow replied. jack whirled his arms around in the manner of one turning a crank and laughed. the boys delighted in such by-play. "if it's all the same to you, boys," frank was now heard saying, "i'll just devour such few things as are left here. i see a ham and a box of canned vegetables. must have intended a long stop here, whoever he was." leaving the boys to search the remainder of the house, ned entered what had evidently been a reading room and turned on his light. the room was handsomely decorated, and there were scores of books lying around on tables and chairs. calling to the boys, he directed them to bring up the marines and station them around the house. "i want to know that i'll not be disturbed," he said. "found somethin'?" asked jimmie. "look at the books," ned replied. jimmie read half a dozen titles and cast the volumes aside. "they don't look good to me," he said. "all about international law and treaties!" "exactly!" ned said, and then jimmie opened his eyes. "i'll bet there's been some of them statesmen livin' here!" the little fellow almost whispered. "say, do you think you have run 'em down at last?" "i don't know, son," was the reply. "look on that table and see what you discover." "bits of torn paper an' some red wax." "the paper," ned explained, "is parchment, such as is used in important official transactions, and the wax is of the kind used by lawyers and diplomats. here is a seal!" ned's face turned pale as he looked at the seal. could it be possible that the nation to which it belonged had been engaged in this conspiracy? it did not seem possible. ned put the telltale seal away in his pocket without permitting jimmie to see it and picked up some loose pieces of sealing wax which lay on the table near where the seal had been found. "do you see the fine work done with the seal which made this impression?" ned asked. "fine seal!" jimmie replied. "was that stamp made by the seal you just hid away?" "no," ned replied, "thank god it was not!" wrapping the wax very carefully, so that it would not crumble, and securing every bit of paper in sight, ned made a little bundle and stowed it away in a pocket. then he began a search of the rug on the floor. jimmie was on his knees, in a moment. "finders keepers?" he asked. "that depends!" ned said. "well, some one's been payin' out money here," the boy went on. "see what i found!" what he had found was a gold piece of the denomination of twenty dollars. and it bore the stamp of the american eagle! chapter xvii boy scouts in a lively mixup ned took the gold piece into his hand and examined it. "it is american money, sure enough," he observed, "and was made at the san francisco mint." frank and jack now joined the little group in the library and regarded the piece with interest. "what does it mean?" frank asked. "why," jack volunteered, "it means that some american man is mixed up in this dirty affair." "perhaps that gold came out of the wreck," jimmie suggested. "say, are we ever goin' back after that gold?" he added. "ned's got all the gold he can attend to right here," commented frank. "he's got to find out how that came here." "why, there was an american in the bunch, and he lost it out of his pocket," jack ventured. "that's the very point," frank observed. "what was an american doing in that bunch?" "it might have been the american who planned to send the gold to the revolutionary leaders by way of a shipment to the chinese government," ned said, thoughtfully. "you know some american had to send the gold." "of course." "well, suppose he is now here trying to get something in exchange for the gold which lies at the bottom of the pacific?" "he naturally would be doing business, with the revolutionary party," frank exclaimed. "what a trick that was!" "i haven't got it through my head yet," jack said. "i don't know any more about the plot than a robin." "look here," frank said, in a superior tone, "there are a lot of chinese in the united states who want to assist the revolutionary party. got that?" "you know it!" "these men arrange with the chinese government to send over a cargo of gold." "that's easy. what were they to get for the gold?" "i don't know," frank answered. "but they arranged to send the gold right out of the subtreasury at san francisco--or was it new york?--to the chinese government." "all right," laughed jack. "i see daylight." "then they notify the rebels-to-be that the gold will be shipped on such a vessel at such a time." "warmer!" grinned jimmie. "and the rebels undertake to have a ship ready to snatch off the gold when the right time comes. so the chinese government will have to pay for the yellow stuff and the rebels will have the good of it." "great scheme!" "yes, well, some other nation gets wise to what is going on, and sets out to burst up the combination." "naturally." "so this foreign nation sends out a ship to ram the vessel carrying the gold." "oh! i got that long ago!" "and the vessel is rammed and the gold goes to the bottom. then this other government, thinking to kill two birds at one shot, gives it out, in certain diplomatic circles, that uncle sam shipped that gold directly to the chinese government from the subtreasury, with the full knowledge that the rebels were to get it." "yes, i've heard about that." "so uncle sam sends ned over here to dig up that gold and see if the shippers didn't put documents in the bags or boxes which would prove out the whole transaction." "an' ned found the documents!" cried jimmie. "good old ned!" "yes, he found the documents which prove that the united states had nothing to do with the matter, but which do not show who started the slander. "and then ned is sent out to track the statesman who had been doing business with the rebels down to his hiding place. it is thought that his nation is the one that tried to mix uncle sam in the matter." "but why should this man be doing business with the rebels?" asked jack. "that is what we don't know," was the reply. "still, we know that he is allied with the rebels. we met him at taku. ned met him at the ruined temple. he may be treacherously in the company of the men who lead the revolutionary party, but he is there." "you have that figured out correctly," ned cut in. "if the man we are after had been doing business with the chinese government, we would have had officers of the law after us at tientsin and taku, instead of men who ran when it came daylight." "what national seal made that stamp on the wax you have in your pocket, ned?" jimmie asked. ned made no reply. "was the stamp made with the seal you have with you?" was the next question. still ned did not answer. he was in a quandary. it did not seem possible that the two nations pointed out by the seal and the wax could be engaged in such dirty business. he hoped to prove to his own satisfaction that they were not. "the only way to find out what we want to know," he said, "is to go on to peking." "your proof will assist you when you get there?" asked frank. "yes, i'm afraid so," ned answered, tentatively. "i don't understand that reply," frank observed, with a serious face. "you must have discovered something in this house which is not to your liking." "time will show," ned said. captain martin, of the marines, now entered the room where the discussion was going on. his face was pale, and his eyes showed greater anger than ned had ever seen reflected there before. "just a moment, ned," he said, and the two stepped into another room. the captain dropped into a chair. "we have struck the hornet's nest," he said. "do you hear them buzzing?" asked ned, with a smile. "worse than that," was the reply. "i am feeling their stings. two of my men have been attacked in the dark." "and wounded?" "yes; one of them seriously." "i'm sorry for the poor fellow," ned said. "do you think we can get him on to peking?" captain martin shook his head. "it is a bad wound," he said. "the man was on guard not far from the edge of the grove when a figure loomed up before him. he challenged and was about to shoot, for no reply came, when he got the knife in his back. he can't be moved." "the trouble is," ned replied, "that we got here too soon." "what's the answer to that?" "we did not give the plotters time enough to finish their business. when that old chink, back there at the gate, signaled to them with his rockets, they cut and ran, leaving important evidence behind them." "and you think they will hang about the flying squadron until they recover what they have lost?" "they certainly will try to recover it. now you see the wisdom of the washington people in sending me to peking on a motorcycle! you see that i was right in saying that we were being set up as marks for other nations to shoot at!" "yes," said martin, "you never could have got to the fellows in the old way. it was right to plan it so that they would come to you, although it was placing you in great danger." "but the danger has rippled off our backs like water off the feathers of a duck! if we meet no more peril than we have now encountered, we'll get back to new york fat and healthy." "one thing i fail to comprehend," captain martin said, "and that is why a flying squadron was sent with you." "to attract attention," laughed ned. "to get you out of scrapes, i should say," the captain retorted. "well, then, both!" "i don't get it yet." "we might have reached peking without our presence in the country being known to our enemies," ned said, "but that was not the idea of the washington people. i have already explained to the boys that we were to do our real work in identifying the man we want while on the way." "oh, all right," replied the officer, "but it seems to me that you might have made the trip in a quieter way with the same result. these chaps would have found you, depend on that." "yes, but we needed help," replied ned, "and we got it in the nick of time. guess the secret service people at washington are all right." "perhaps," the captain said, then, "we would better get the wounded men into the house and look after their wounds. the others i'll leave on guard." the injured marines were carried into the house and given such attention as could be bestowed in the absence of a surgeon. "what next?" asked frank. "peking!" answered jack. "we can't heal these wounds by remaining here, and we can help by going on and sending a surgeon back." "but my orders are to remain with you," captain martin said. "then leave most of your men here and come on," ned replied. this plan was agreed upon, and would have been carried out at once had not something not on the program of the night intervened. captain martin had detailed two men to sit with the wounded and stationed the others in a circle about the house when a shot was fired off to the east. "i didn't think they would have the nerve to attack the house openly before we got away," captain martin remarked. all listened intently, but there was no more shooting. "that sounded to me more like a signal than anything else," ned observed. "i wonder if they are out in force?" "i think i'd better call the men in," captain martin remarked. the words were hardly out of his mouth when a skulking form appeared in the dim light which now fell from the stars. the fellow was creeping from the house outward. "a spy!" jack whispered. "shoot, some one. i haven't my gun with me. shoot!" the skulking man appeared to hear the words, though they were spoken in a very low tone, for he sprang to his feet and dashed away at full speed. in a second he was lost to view in the thicket. "say, but that chap is some runner!" jimmie cried. "he went so fast i never thought to wing him!" "where did he come from?" asked frank. "i'm certain he was not in the house. perhaps he was up to some deviltry." "he wasn't here with any bouquets," jimmie answered. "i'm goin' out an' run around the house. perhaps i can find out where he was hidin', an' find his mate there." no objections being offered to this, the little fellow left the group and started in on a tour around the old house. he was gone perhaps two minutes, then came dashing back, his face white and horror-stricken in the circle of light which met him. "grab 'em! grab 'em an' get out!" he shouted. "where did you get it?" demanded jack. "you're scared stiff!" frank laughed. "grab the wounded men an' beat it!" jimmie repeated. "this ranch will go up in the air in a second!" "that's cheerful!" jack cut in, half believing that jimmie was up to another trick. jimmie dashed into the house, seized one of the wounded men by the shoulders and tried to drag him off the improvised bed on which he had been laid. "all right!" he yelled. "you boys may stay here an' get shot up into blue sky if you want to, but i'm goin' to get these men out." "why don't you tell us what the danger is?" demanded ned, shaking the little fellow by the arm. "you listen!" jimmie replied. there was dead silence for an instant. then, seemingly from underneath the floor, came a low, sinister hissing sound which every one of the boys recognized. a great fuse was burning below, and might at any moment reach the explosive to which it was attached. the chinese tools of the man at the head of the conspiracy were taking desperate chances. in order to destroy the clues which ned had found in the house, and also to prevent the boy ever discovering any more, they were taking the long chance of murdering the soldiers of a friendly power and bringing on international complications. ned was by no means idle while these thoughts were swarming in his brain. in fact, all the boys sprang to action instantly. captain martin was told to order his men farther away from the point of danger. in less time than the result of their activities can be written down the wounded men were lying in the grove, surrounded by their fellows, and the boys were waiting for what seemed inevitable, the complete destruction of the house. chapter xviii a broken match safe "why don't she go up?" asked jack, as the boys crouched in the grove. "i don't mind seeing a little fourth of july!" "she's coming," frank answered. "do you see the light in the cellar? that's the fuse burning." "it must be a long one," jimmie said. "gee, but i was scared stiff when i saw it burnin' right under where you all were!" "how did the sneak who set the fuse on fire ever get down there?" wondered jack. "must have been there all the time," jimmie volunteered. "but he didn't have the powder, or the dynamite, or whatever thing he figured on blowing us up with, in his pockets, did he?" asked jack. "i guess the old chink down the road, the fellow who kept me talking at the gate, had something to do with storing the explosive there," ned remarked. "i presume the plot was laid to blow us up the minute the effort to destroy us at the ruined temple failed." "merry little time we're having," frank laughed. "here, kid, where are you going?" he added, as jimmie moved away. "i'm goin' to see why that don't go bang!" answered the boy. ned tried to stop him, but the little fellow dodged away and disappeared around an angle of the house. the boys waited in suspense for a moment, expecting every instant to witness the explosion, then frank and jack darted around the corner, in quest of jimmie. "come back!" ned called, but they paid no heed. both ned and the captain sprang after the lads, the latter expressing in very vigorous language his opinion of boys who would take such risks out of curiosity. "i'd rather wait an hour for an explosion than go up to see why it didn't come off in time," he said. "that jimmie needs a good beating. he'll get it, too, if he doesn't behave!" ned laughed, serious as the situation was, at the thought of what would be apt to happen if the captain should lay hands on the little fellow in anger. he would have the other boys on his hands in a second! when ned rounded the corner he saw jimmie's heels half blocking a cellar window. thick smoke was oozing out around him, and frank and jack were trying to pull him back. "you let go!" they heard the little fellow shout. "i guess i know what i'm doin'. you let go!" "wait!" ned said, then he stooped over and called out to jimmie: "is the fuse out?" "sure!" was the reply. "'sure the fuse is out, but before it went out it set fire to something on the cellar bottom, an' the blaze is workin' its way up to the powder, or whatever it is. ouch!" he added, as jack gave a pull at his foot. "you let go!" "let him go," ned advised. "perhaps he can get in there in time to prevent the explosion." "the little gink!" jack exclaimed, "i wanted to see the thing bust up. now he's spoiled it!" in a moment the boy was in the cellar, and ned was not far away when the creeping flame was extinguished. while frank and jack looked in at the window, shielding their eyes and faces from the smudge as well as it was possible to do, ned called out to them: "tell captain martin to keep his men on guard around the house. the scamps who did this may be up to some other trick. they're determined that we shall never get to peking!" frank crawled through the window and stood by ned's side, searchlight in hand. just about underneath the center of the house, was a half barrel of gunpowder. "that would have done the business," frank observed, and jimmie made a wry face. "if this little nuisance hadn't seen the fuse burning, we might have been killed." "aw, go on!" jimmie said. "the fuse went out, didn't it? gave us a good scare, anyway. i'm six inches shorter than i was before i saw the blaze creepin' along like a bloomin' snake!" "how did it affect your appetite?" asked frank. "if you mention anythin' to eat," jimmie answered, "i'll have a fit. i don't know how people live in china, but i've been starved ever since i struck the country." flashlight in hand, ned now devoted his whole attention to the floor of the cellar. there were marks of shoes here and there, and half-burned matches. "it looks as if whoever did this job did it in a hurry," ned said. "if the fuse had been set right it would have done its work. do you see why it went out?" "well, there's a break in it, and the break is over a damp spot on the floor. the powder stuffed line burned to the break and there the flame went out. it burned slowly, anyway, which probably accounts for our being alive at this time." ned took a rule from his pocket and measured the shoe tracks on the floor. there were numerous tracks, but one was very distinct. this had been made by the man who rolled the half-barrel of powder to the place where it had been found. the barrel had come upon a slight obstruction, and the man had evidently lifted and pulled at it until his shoe, by reason of the extra weight put upon it, had sunk deep into the light soil. "that wasn't any chink shoe," jimmie said. "no, it was a shoe made in america," ned said. "it is comparatively a new shoe, too. i am wondering now why the american, or englishman, or frenchman, whatever he is, didn't hire some of the chinks to do this work of laying the explosion." "they're afraid," jack volunteered. there was a litter of half-burned matches near the barrel and ned bent over and gathered them up. as he did so something bright lying on the ground, caught his eye. it was a gold rivet, or wire, not more than an inch long and about as thick as a knitting needle. "what is it?" asked frank. "i should say," replied ned, "that the fellow lost the cover to his match box here. this looks like the rivet which served for a hinge. the cover itself may be here." but a close search did not reveal the cover, nor anything else of moment, in fact, and the boys soon left the cellar. frank laughed as ned placed the gold wire in his pocketbook. "you are making quite a collection," he said. "yes," jack added, "he has a state department seal, bits of broken sealing wax, and now a piece of a broken match safe. he'll set a trap with them directly!" "the trap is already set!" ned replied. the long delay at the house made high speed necessary during the remainder of the run to peking. the machines sparked and roared through that ancient land, bringing sleepy-eyed natives to doors and windows, and setting villages into whirls of excitement. captain martin and one marine were with the boys, the rest having been left with the wounded men. "my flying squadron is just beginning to fly," ned said, as the machines rolled noisily down a hill from which the towers of the distant city showed. "and the smaller it becomes as we approach the end of the journey!" "suppose the chinks attack the men left behind?" asked jack. "no danger of that," ned replied. "they are not after the marines, but the boy scouts who had the nerve to cross the pacific for the purpose of bringing a rascal to punishment." this view of the case proved to be the correct one, as the marines were remarkably well treated by the natives, who gathered about them with many gestures and questions, all unintelligible to the warriors. the boys who were slowly drawing a slowly closing circle around the guilty ones were the persons in demand! it was the middle of the forenoon when ned and his companions reached the suburbs of the wonderful city. they attracted a great deal of attention as they wheeled through the straggling streets. they had not yet come to the wall, so the population was principally agricultural. maize and millet are the principal products of the soil here, as the staple crops, wheat and rice, do not flourish well. they had no difficulty in passing the gate which gave into the southern or "chinese city." it is the northern part of peking that is known to foreigners as "the forbidden city." here the rulers live in wonderful palaces. this is the old "tartar city," too. the second division of peking is the business section. here the boys drew up at a most uninviting native inn and asked a clerk who claimed to speak english for an interpreter. a snaky-looking fellow was finally produced, and ned proceeded to question him about the show places of the town. "let him think we are american tourists," ned said to his chums, "and we'll stand a better chance of getting into the diplomatic section of the town. anyway, while we are here, we may as well see the sights." after a midday luncheon ned and jimmie started out to look over the place. they were now in what is known as the general city, where the streets are from 140 to 200 feet wide. the thoroughfares are mostly unpaved, and the shops which line them are continuous, some green, some blue, some red, but all bustling with business. the shops in this section of peking are decorated with huge, staring signs, resplendent with chinese characters highly gilt. before the boys had traveled far they were forcibly reminded of the lower east side of new york. the great thoroughfares roared with the rush of commerce. shopkeepers, peddlers, mountebanks, quack doctors, pedestrians rushing to and fro, all reminded the lads of the lower part of the big city on manhattan island. the theaters and public places of amusement are situated in this part of peking. when ned and jimmie returned from the stroll they found frank and jack waiting for them with anxiety depicted on their faces. "what have you been doing?" frank asked. "i thought you came here to interview the american ambassador." "all in good time," ned replied, with a smile. "i want to pick up the american shoe print before i present my letter to the ambassador." "fine show you stand of picking up a shoe print in a crowd like that one out there!" jack said. "it's worse than coney island on a midsummer sunday." "perhaps i didn't use the right words," smiled ned. "i might have said i was waiting for the american shoe man to pick me up." "he's done that now, all right," captain martin said. "you had not been out of the house five minutes before the spies were thick as flies in the old eighth ward. they are all about us now. watch and see if we are ever alone." ned glanced about carelessly and nudged frank with his elbow. "that waiter?" he asked. "how long has he been loitering about the room?" "ever since we arrived. the men who have been entertaining us on the way were evidently waiting for us." the boys were not in a private room, but in a public apartment where there were tables and refreshments. "but that chap belongs here," ned replied. "well, if you watch him, you will see that he is attending strictly to the wants of this party. if we call he'll wait on us. if any one else calls, another waiter glides over to him. nice to be so exclusive, isn't it?" "if you are right," ned said, "it is time for us to move on." "to the embassy?" asked captain martin. "you see," the captain went on, "i'm rather anxious to land you boys under the protecting folds of the american flag, for there my responsibility ends." "no, not to the embassy," ned replied. "as yet i have nothing of importance to confide to the ambassador. i can only tell him that we are here, that we had numerous nibbles on the road from taku, but that all the fish got away." "holy smoke!" exclaimed jack. "i hope you don't think of staying out in the open until you can convey a couple of diplomats to the embassy! you can't catch your man single handed. you're not in new york now, but in a heathen town, a town where the life of a foreign devil is not worth a grain of rice." "just the same," ned replied, "i'm going to stick around this town until i get what i want." "in this dump?" asked jack. "no; there's an american hotel up the street--an american hotel operated by chinks! we'll go there and take rooms and wait for something to turn up." so, in spite of the protests of captain martin, the change was made, and late that night ned awoke to find himself sitting up on the edge of his bed, automatic in hand, listening to the steady boring of a tool of some sort around the lock of his door! chapter xix a boy scout surprise party when ned heard the assaults of the midnight visitor on his door he looked at his watch, then slipped over to the window facing the street. twelve o'clock and the thoroughfare below still teeming with life. peking has something over three millions of population, according to the records, but, as a matter of fact, no one knows the exact size of the town as to humanity, for the chinese live in densely-packed districts, and there are no census reports given out. the city is many centuries old. it was a thriving capital three thousand years before christ was born and during all the years of war and starvation and intrigue it continued to grow. the hardy races from the north, which overran the country and kept a tartar on the chinese throne for centuries, are virile and pertinacious. it has been the fate of every civilization we know anything about to be wiped out by hardy races. rome went down before the northmen, and england had its oversea conqueror. greece and italy succumbed to the might of brawny arms, and civilization shrank back for hundreds of years. so china fell before the men of the mountains, and her records were destroyed. as in all large cities, there is a night side to the life of peking. if you traverse the streets at night you will find shops which have been closed all day opening for the trade of the night workers. you will see people who have slept through all the daylight hours walking through the streets to their nightly toil. you will see about the same things, only on a smaller scale, that you see in the daytime. this night was no different from any other, except that there were more men who did not appear to have any particular business there lounging along the streets. now and then these loiterers, walking slowly along the business ways, slipped unostentatiously into alleys and narrow by-ways and so on into basement and garret halls where others of their kind were assembled. when ned looked out of his window, listening meanwhile to the steady boring sound at his door, he saw a light at a window opposite to the building in which he stood waving slowly to and fro. there was a long vertical motion, and then the light moved from side to side again. ned counted the slow strokes. left to right, right to left, back again and yet again! "six," he mused, "and all in action!" the mouse-like gnawing at his door continued, the sounds seemingly louder than before. the intruder was evidently gaining courage! presently the boy leaned out of his window, which was on the third floor of the hotel, and watched the entrance below. there appeared to be a great rush of customers at that time. at least a score of natives passed in at the large door. then ned turned to the right and studied the window of the room next to his own on that floor. there was a light in that room, too, but it seemed to be a red light. then it changed to white, then to blue. ned laughed and began drawing on his clothes. still the boring continued, and ned bent over to see if he could discover any holes in the stile of the door. there being no light in his room and, presumably, one in the corridor outside, he thought he might be able to see when a cut through the stile had been made. there were no indications of a break yet, and ned settled back on his bed to wait. just at that moment he hardly knew what he was waiting for. he had been very busy all the afternoon, laying plans and conferring with a man who came from the police bureau, and who appeared to be working under instructions from the boy. ned considered his plans as near perfect as any human plans can be, still he did not know exactly what would happen at a quarter past twelve. at ten minutes past midnight the boy heard a rush of footsteps in the corridor. they passed his door and the boring ceased. then they faded away in the distance and the gnawing was resumed. there was a little more noise in the hotel than before. ned smiled at the crude efforts that were being made to enter his room. in new york man disposed to enter for the purpose of robbery would have a skeleton key. he would be inside the room in three seconds after entering the corridor and finding the apartment he sought wrapped in darkness. "but this isn't new york," the boy mused. "this is the orient, and the patience of the orient, and the stupidity of the orient!" at exactly a quarter past twelve there was a commotion in the corridor. several people seemed to be moving toward the door of ned's room. once there was a little cry of alarm. ned looked out of his window. the panes where he had observed the signals, across the street, were dark. there was no light in the window next his own which had shown red, white and blue but a moment before. the clamor in the corridor increased, and ned walked to the door and undid the fastenings. then it swung open, almost striking ned in the face. facing the boy, in the corridor, were six chinamen, or men in native dress, rather. back of them were a score of stern-faced chinese policemen. to the right, and struggling with all their might to get into the room were frank, jack, and jimmie, the latter with his nose wrinkled and wrinkling to such an extent that it resembled a small ocean with the wind undulating its surface. "trap's closed!" that was jimmie, of course. frank and jack stood by laughing. the faces of the six men who stood before the door were anything but pleasant to look upon. they expressed hate, despair, desperate intents. as they stood there frank reached forward and snatched a queue-wig from the head of the man nearest him. "there he is!" jimmie cried. "there's the old boy, ned--the smooth gink we saw at taku, at tientsin, and at numerous places on the road. i wonder how he likes the scene?" ned motioned to the six to step into the room. three of them objected, then swords flashed in the light of the corridor and they moved on. they were followed by the three boys and half a dozen policemen, all with automatics in view. at a motion from the leader of the officers the six were searched and ironed. jack nudged frank in the ribs with his elbow as the handcuffs clicked on the wrists of the man who had so persistently followed them from the coast of the yellow sea. "that's a good sport," he said. "i like to see a fellow play the game!" the prisoner turned a pair of treacherous eyes on the boys and a cynical smile curled his thin lips. "you have the cards now," he said, in english, "but look out for the new deal. i'll keep you busy yet." "go to it!" laughed jack. "go as far as you like, only i fail to see how you're going to get into the game again. looks like you were all in, just now!" "wait!" said the other, scornfully. there now came a knock at the door and ned opened it to admit captain martin, who looked as if he had just left his bed after an unsatisfactory sleep. he cast his eyes about the room with amazement showing in every glance. "what does this mean?" he asked. "surprise party!" jimmie cried. "who are these men?" the captain pointed to the six prisoners lined up against the wall of the room. "our friends from taku, from the ruined temple, from tientsin, from the farm house loaded with gunpowder, and from the tea house," laughed ned. "do you recognize the fellow with his disguise off? jimmie gave him a haircut and shave just now." "and you have captured them?" "it doesn't look as if they had captured us," jimmie broke in. "but how, when, why?" "all of that!" grinned jimmie. ned spoke a few words to the officer in charge of the squad and in a moment the room was occupied only by the handcuffed prisoners, the four boys, and captain martin. the latter stood looking at ned with a question in each eye. "when you get time," he said, "i'd like to have you tell me how you brought this case to a close so suddenly." ned motioned to the man who had been stripped of his disguise to take a chair at the table. the fellow did so reluctantly, turning his face this way and that, as if seeking some opportunity of escape. "well," he said. "you have the floor. go on." "you were at taku?" asked ned. "i deny everything!" "you will deny your own fingerprints, the shoeprints?" asked ned. "well, supposing, for the sake of argument, that i was at taku, what has that to do with this brutal and illegal arrest?" "you placed the powder under the house where the wounded men lay?" "no." "i have something i want to show you," ned said, taking a paper from his pocket. "have you a match?" almost involuntarily the fellow put his hand to his right vest pocket and brought forth a gold match safe. ned took it into his hand and touched the spring which lifted the top. "there seems to be a new wire in the hinge," he said. "yes, the old one wore out." ned opened his pocketbook and took out the gold wire he had found in the cellar by the side of the powder. the prisoner started violently when he saw it. "is this yours?" ned asked. "no!" "all right!" ned said. with the point of his knife he pushed the sale and put the old new hinge from the match safe and put the old one in its place. it fitted exactly. "there!" ned said, "you see the old one did not wear out entirely. it wore away so that it dropped out. do you know where i found it, my friend?" "it is immaterial to me where you found it." "even if i found it in a cellar by the side of a half barrel of gunpowder to which a lighted fuse had been attached?" "hadn't you better make your case--if you can make it at all--in the courts?" asked the prisoner. ned took the state department seal, the sealing wax, and the bits of parchment from his pocket. "who met you in the library at the house you attempted to destroy?" he asked. there was no reply. "were these men present?" with a sweep of the hand toward the other prisoners. "what has this to do with my case?" "this," ned replied. "you were still conspiring to fix upon my government the crime of interfering in the private affairs of another nation--with the crime of providing, by a treacherous and despicable route, the money needed by the revolutionary party of china. you were doing business in that house with the representatives of another nation. who were they? what nations did they represent, or pretend to represent?" "i have nothing to say to that." ned held up the seal. "this was not used?" he asked. "it was not used." "why not?" "because the representative of that nation refused to consider the terms offered him." ned held forth the sealing wax. "this shows that the seal of another nation was used. where is the paper to which the seal was attached?" "destroyed!" "is that true?" asked ned. "it is true, they all deserted me. they all ran away when they knew you were in the country, but i brought them back, and held them until the incident at the house where you found those things." "so you are now the only one to look to for the history of this bit of deviltry?" "i stand alone," was the reply. "alone, with the exception of these men i who were arrested with me. the plot has failed, and we know what to expect." the prisoner was about to say more, but just then a clamor in the street below attracted the attention of all in the room. chapter xx the emperor takes a hand ned stepped to the window and looked out. the street in front of the hotel was filled from curb to curb with an excited mob. that the efforts of those below were directed toward the building and its occupants there could be no doubt. many a shaking fist was thrust up to the lighted panes where ned stood. the boy turned to jimmie, spoke a few words in a whisper, and the little fellow left the room. with him went the interpreter who had been engaged that day. shouts, howls and groans of rage now came up from the street, and ned stepped away from the window. as he did so the prisoner who had been making a partial confession when the uproar came, moved forward, as if to show himself to those below. seeing his intention, ned seized him by the shoulder and hurled him to the back end of the room. the prisoner smiled and again seated himself in the chair he had occupied before. "your friends are excited," ned said, drawing the curtain at the window. the other nodded in the direction of the window and smiled. "my friends?" he asked. "certainly." "why do you attribute this outbreak to me?" "because those not in league with you and your cause would hardly threaten american tourists, in the face of the law." "american tourists!" snarled the other, and ned laughed. jimmie now came bustling into the room, his eyes staring with excitement. the interpreter was only a trifle less moved by the information which had been gained. "what is it?" jack asked. "he's crazy with fear again!" frank put in. "say," jimmie cried, "you'd all better be gettin' out of this place. the people out there are goin' to raid it in a minute!" the prisoner uttered a defiant laugh and again started for the window. again ned forced him back. "what's the trouble?" asked frank. "why," was the reply, "this gink here," pointing toward the prisoner whose disguise had been removed, "this gazabo hadn't much confidence in his own ability to win this fight, so he appealed to the revolutionary leaders." "that's fine!" jack said. "we may have the luck to see a full-fledged revolution doing business." "you are quite likely to." this from the prisoner, now standing with the others at the back of the room. "you arranged for this demonstration in case you should be taken?" asked ned. the prisoner snarled out some ugly reply. "you planned this?" demanded ned, resolved to know the truth. "yes," almost shouted the other, "and you will soon discover that it is something more than a demonstration." the interpreter drew jimmie aside and whispered in his ear. then the boy turned to ned. "this boy says he saw a signal given from a window as soon as this bunch was taken," he said. "then crowds began forming. say, but we'd better be gettin' out!" "save yourselves the exertion," the prisoner said. "they will find you, wherever you go!" "possibly," ned said. then he walked to the window and again looked out on the mob. the street was packed. faces showing rage and desperate bravery were uplifted. fists were shaken at the window where he stood. in a moment a stone came hurtling against the wall of the house. here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd, policemen in the funny uniforms the police of peking wear, were seen trying vainly to force their way to the door of the hotel. the main entrance seemed to be guarded, for the mob did not succeed in forcing its way in. presently, however, ned saw long ladders being carried forward on the shoulders of the rioters. then they were dropped against the wall and men with bloody faces--bloody from the acts of their own fellows--fought to be first to climb. "in three minutes," the prisoner said, "you will be torn limb from limb if i am not released." "your friends certainly do insist on something of the kind," ned replied. "remove these irons and place me before the window," commanded the other. "that will quiet them." "and make terms with a pack of rioters?" smiled ned. "you can save your life, and the lives of your friends, in no other way," insisted the other. ned went to the window again, although bricks and stones were flying quite freely. the ladders swarmed with excited men, but no one seemed able to gain entrance at the windows which were attacked. instead, a ladder now and then went toppling backward, carrying dozens of rioters to death or injury. when the ladders began falling the mob moved away from that side of the street. "you see," ned said to the prisoner, "that we were on the lookout for something like this." "how could you have been?" gasped the other. "our interpreter heard some of the messages sent out by mouth by the revolutionists. i connected your possible capture with the gathering. we were warned and made ready." "but my men will soon be here!" shouted the other. "they are sworn to go to death for the cause if necessary." "but i don't see them doing anything of the kind," ned replied. "on the contrary, they seem to be taking pretty good care of their yellow old hides!" "you'll see!" howled the other. directly the heavy beat of marching feet came up to the window, heard above the roar of the mob below. far down the street ned saw the advancing line, bearing the colors of the emperor. the rioters saw the line, too, and the crowd in front of the hotel began to thin. then the soldiers arrived and the thoroughfare was empty save for their presence. by this time the prisoner was in a condition of collapse. he had planned this thing carefully, and was now in the meshes of failure. the street below soon cleared of the few who gathered about to witness the arrival of the soldiers. the few prisoners, who had been taken marched sullenly to prison. in ten minutes the city of peking was as quiet as if the machinations of the conspirators had never stirred the people to riot. "well?" ned said, facing the prisoner. "what do you think we ought to do with you?" "after all," was the reply, "you have no charges against me. my government alone can discipline me for what has been done." "your government will deny any knowledge of the conspiracy," ned replied. "from this time on, you have no government." "and yet i acted under instructions." "what was the motive?" asked frank, who saw a fine cablegram for his father's newspaper in the story. "the purpose," replied the other, weakly, "was to so entangle your government that it would not dare lend aid to the revolutionary leaders." "and you were engaged in it?" a nod of the head was the only reply. "yet you pretended to be assisting the revolutionary party. you were present at their councils. can it be possible that you were treacherous to both sides?" there was no answer. "suppose," ned said, "suppose i turn you over to the revolutionary leaders, with a statement of what you have just said? what would be your fate? remember that the men of the revolution were ready to fight for you not long ago." still no reply. the prisoner only looked sullenly down at the floor. "what government do you represent?" asked frank. "what nation is it that is protecting the imperial government of china?" "you need not answer that question," ned said, with a sigh. frank laughed. "i see," he said. "you don't want to further implicate matters by giving out the name of the power whose seal shows on the wax! all right, old boy, i'll get it yet!" "no good can come of a representative of the united states government presenting charges of such a character against another power," ned replied. captain martin now arose from the chair where he had been seated for a long time. he glanced keenly into the faces of the six prisoners and then turned to ned. "shall i take them in charge?" he asked, "that would be useless." "then what can be done with them?" "i am going to turn them over to the authorities on the charge of attempted murder, based on the effort they made to kill us in the old house." "very well," the captain said, "now will you tell me how you set this trap so, cleverly?" "it was only a matter of detail," ned replied. "i took good care to let the native waiters here know that i had the clues i had found secreted in my room. i also let it be known that i was a heavy sleeper. "my interpreter, who is by no means as treacherous a chap as his looks would indicate, heard the robbery of my room planned. he heard the hour fixed-a quarter past twelve. so all the rest was easy." "oh, yes, easy, but how did you do it?" "frank, jack and jimmie helped," added ned. "jack was at a window over the way. he told me by signals just how many men were to take part in the attack on me. "frank, in the next room to mine, told me when the time came to be on guard. i really do not wake easily, and he rigged a cord through the wall so i could rest comfortably until the time for action came. "then when all was ready, he told me by means of colored light that all the six were in the corridor, and that the officers i had engaged during the afternoon were on hand." "and you went to sleep with all this on your mind and slept up to within a quarter of an hour of the time set for action?" asked the captain in wonder. "why, certainly," was the reply. "you see, we have been having some exciting nights, and i needed rest. the other boys slept a good deal this afternoon, so i left them to wake me at night. nothing odd about that, is there?" "nothing save the nerve of it." two high officers now made their appearance in the room and beckoned to the prisoners. all arose save the man from whom the disguise had been stripped. he remained in the chair into which he had dropped, seemingly in a stupor. "come," said the officer. the man arose, desperation in his eyes, and moved toward the door. a few days before that miserable night he had been one of the leaders in the statecraft of the world. now he was being marched to a prison like any ordinary criminal. the speaker was interrupted by a quick movement on the part of the prisoner, the man he had addressed as count. there was no one between he desperate man and the still open window. ned was at the door, captain martin was out in the corridor, and frank, jack and jimmie were talking together in a corner. handcuffed as he was, the count leaped to the window and shot down to the hard pavement below. there was a shrill cry as his body hurtled through the air, then a crash. below passersby drew away from what lay in a bloody heap on the pavement. a little crowd gathered, at a distance, but none knew that the body of one of the most distinguished statesmen in the world lay there. "it is finished!" ned said, with a sigh. "the whole story of the conspiracy will never be told. it is the story of a treacherous government and a treacherous statesman. "the documents i have will fully prove that the united states had no hand in the gold shipment, and that is all that we care for. the old world may take care of its own political messes." "it is a mess indeed," captain martin, said. "in less than a year china will be red with blood, and the streets of peking will witness the retreat of the royal family." how true this prophecy was the readers of the daily newspapers now know. "well," jack said, with a yawn, as the boys and the captain were left alone in the room together, "i presume it is us for little old new york to-morrow. how do you like this motorcycle-flying-squadron business, boys," he added. "we seem to have flown ahead of the flying squadron." "then we ought to fly back and look after the ones who were wounded on the road," frank said. "suppose we all go back on our machines, and really see something of the country?" this was agreed to, and the party separated for the night. in the morning ned paid his respects to the american ambassador, who greeted him courteously, but wanted to know all about the events of the trip from the coast. "you have gotten uncle sam out of a bad mess," the ambassador said, when ned had finished his narration, "and you will find that you will be well rewarded when you return to washington." the ambassador also requested the boys to visit the other legations, but they did not care to do so. "well," he said, then, "you must take a letter from me which may help you on your way. i have been expecting you here all the week, but it seems that you completed your work without my assistance," "just what i was figuring on," ned replied. "i worked under surveillance all the way here, and i desired to show that i could do something on my own account." the boys left peking early the next morning, and were not long in reaching the house where the powder trap had been set for them. there they found hans and sandy! the boys had followed them on from tientsin in an automobile which an english merchant was taking through. both boys were riding motorcycles, and were already proficient enough to proceed with the others, using the machines which had been ridden by the wounded marines, who were sent on to peking in charge of captain martin. a week was spent on the road to taku, and the lads enjoyed every minute of the time. the letter given them by the american ambassador brought them every attention at tientsin and taku. it was late in the fall when they reached new york. on the night of their arrival there were many joyful meetings in the clubroom of the black bear patrol. the next day ned went on to washington to file his report. when he returned it was with a very substantial reward. "now," he said, with a laugh, "i'm ready for the next trip. i wonder where it will be?" the end bert wilson's twin cylinder racer by j. w. duffield author of "bert wilson at the wheel," "wireless operator," "fadeaway ball," "marathon winner," "at panama." copyright, 1914, by sully and kleinteich all rights reserved. published and printed, 1924, by western printing & lithographing company racine, wisconsin printed in u. s. a. contents chapter page i. the runaway locomotive 1 ii. the "blue streak" 13 iii. from coast to coast 28 iv. a flying start 41 v. the deserted hut 53 vi. the broken dam 65 vii. a kentucky feud 82 viii. the forged telegram 97 ix. in deadly peril 104 x. a day of disaster 118 xi. the flaming forest 129 xii. racing an airship 137 xiii. an unseen listener 145 xiv. the outlaw plot 154 xv. a murderous grip 163 xvi. desperate chances 175 xvii. the wonderful city 188 xviii. a winning fight 199 bert wilson's twin cylinder racer chapter i the runaway locomotive "stop her. stop her. she's running wild!" the cry ended almost in a shriek that rang high above the murmur of voices at the railroad station. it was a bright sunny morning early in june. the usual crowd of rustics had gathered at the depot to see the train come in and depart. a few commercial travelers were consulting time tables and attending to the disposition of their baggage. gay laughter and hasty farewells arose from a bevy of girls and the young men who had assembled to see them off. the conductor, watch in hand, stood ready to give the signal, and the black porters were already gathering up the folding steps preparatory to boarding the train. the bells were ringing and the whistle had given its preliminary toot, when all were startled at the sight of the station agent, who issued wild-eyed from his office and ran on the track, frantically waving his hands and shouting at the top of his voice. as the startled passengers and trainmen followed the direction of his look, they saw what had occasioned the wild commotion, and, for a moment, their hearts stood still. a big mogul engine that had been shunted to a side track was moving down the line, slowly at first but gathering speed with every passing second. neither engineer nor fireman could be seen in the cab. it was evident that they had left before the power was completely shut off, or that some sudden jar had started the mechanism. even while the frightened spectators watched as though under a spell, the pace grew swifter. some of the men lounging about the roundhouse made a hurried rush for it, with a faint hope of getting aboard and shutting off steam. one of these made a desperate grab at the rear end of the tender, but was flung in a ditch alongside the track, where he rolled over and over. it was too late to stop her. amid a tempest of yells and a tumult of excitement she gathered way and sped down the line. the station master wrung his hands and tore his hair in desperation. for the moment he was crazed with fright. a clear eyed young fellow, tall, stalwart, muscular, had been chatting with a party of friends on the road beside the platform. while he talked, his hand rested on the handle-bars of a motorcycle at which he glanced at intervals with a look of pride that was almost affection. it was a superb machine, evidently of the latest type, and in its graceful lines suggested in some vague way a resemblance to its owner. both looked like thoroughbreds. at the babel of cries that rent the air the young motorcyclist looked up and his nostrils dilated with sudden purpose. at a glance he took in the situation--the running men, the panic cries, the runaway engine. then he came plunging through the crowd and grasped the dazed agent by the shoulder. "come, wake up," he cried. "do something. telegraph to the next station." the man looked up dully. terror had benumbed his faculties. he was clearly not the man for a sudden emergency. "no use," he moaned. "the next station is thirteen miles away. and it's a single track," he wailed, "and no. 56 is due in twenty minutes. if she's on time she's already left there. they'll meet head-on--o god!" "quick," the newcomer commanded, as he fairly dragged him into the office. "there's the key. get busy. call up the next station and see if you can stop 56." but as he saw the aimless, paralyzed way in which the agent fumbled at the key, he thrust him aside and took his place. he was an expert telegrapher, and his fingers fairly flew as he called up the operator at corridon. "engine running wild," he called. "stop 56 and sidetrack the runaway." a moment of breathless suspense and the answer came in sharp, staccato clicks that betrayed the agitation of the man at the other end. "56 just left. rounding the curve half a mile away. making up time, too. for heaven's sake, do something." "do something." what bitter irony! what could be done? death was at the throttle of that mad runaway rushing down the line. but the young fellow was of the never say die kind, and always at his best when danger threatened. he thought with the rapidity of lightning. then he clutched the station agent, who sat with his head bowed on his hands, a picture of abject misery. "is there a switch between here and corridon?" he demanded fiercely. "n-no," muttered the stupefied man. "that is, there is one at the old stone quarry, but----" the remainder of the sentence fell on empty air. like a flash, the youth who had so cavalierly taken matters in his own hands was out of the room. he ploughed through the huddled group of passengers and trainmen, and flung himself into the saddle of the waiting motorcycle. a roar as he threw in the clutch, a quick scattering of those in front, and the machine, like a living thing, darted down the road that lay beside the track. the wind sang in his ears and the path fell away behind him as he crouched low over the fork so that his body might offer as little resistance as possible. and, as he rushed along, his active mind was thinking--thinking-he knew the surrounding country like an open book. there was scarcely a lane that he had not threaded, and as for the highways, he had gone over them again and again. now, as in a panorama, he saw every turn and bend, every height and hollow of the road that lay before him. in sheer delight of living he had ridden it before; now he must do it to keep others from dying. the old stone quarry was a familiar landmark. more than once, he and other fellows from the college interested in geology had come over there to hunt fossils. at an earlier date, it had been a buzzing hive of activity, and a side track had been laid by the railroad company in order to load the stone more easily. but of late it had proved unprofitable to work the quarry, and nothing now remained but the abandoned shacks of the workmen and some broken tools and machinery, rusting in the grass that had grown up around them. he remembered that the siding ran for about twenty rods and ended at bumpers set within a few feet of the wall of rock. for two or three miles, the road he was traveling ran almost parallel to the railroad. at times, a shoulder of the path hid the rails from sight, and at one place he had to make quite a wide detour before he again came close to the right of way. the switch at the quarry was seven miles from the town, and, though he hoped to make it in less than that many minutes, it seemed as though he would never reach it. to his agonized mind he appeared to be merely crawling. in reality he was flying. for he was riding now as he had never ridden before. human life was at stake--perhaps hundreds of lives. he pictured the long line of cars full of passengers--for 56 was the road's finest train, and almost always filled to capacity--coming toward him without a thought of danger. some would be reading, others gazing out of the windows, still others laughing and talking. but everywhere would be confidence, ease of mind, an eager looking for the journey's end without the slightest apprehension. and all this time, death was grimly bearing down upon them in one of his most fearful forms. he shuddered as in his mind's eye he saw the two monster locomotives leaping at each other like enraged giants. he had seen a wreck once and had fervently prayed that he might never see another. and as that scene now came before him, he bent lower over the bars and let out every ounce of speed that the machine possessed. it was leaping now, only touching the high places. had he been a less skilful rider he would have been hurled from the saddle. discretion was thrown to the winds. it was no time to measure possibilities or look out for his personal safety. he had to take chances. his siren warned all comers to give him the road. a team was hauled up on its haunches by the frightened driver; an automobile drew so hastily to one side that two wheels went into the ditch. he caught a glimpse of startled faces at doors and windows as he passed. like a meteor he flashed by, all his heart and soul wrapped up in the thought of rescue. now he had overtaken the locomotive and was running parallel to it. the mogul swayed and lurched as it tore along with all steam up on its mission of destruction. steadily the rider drew up on even terms, with less than twenty feet separating the tracks from the high road. then the motorcycle swept into the lead and increased it with every bound. only two miles more to the quarry! his heart exulted as he realized that he would get there first. but the margin would be fearfully close. the switch might prove rusty and refuse to work. some part of it might be out of gear. for years it had been utterly abandoned. what a bitter jest of fate if, after reaching it ahead of the locomotive, he should have to stand helplessly by and see it dash past on its errand of slaughter. then, too, a third factor entered into the problem. there was no. 56. she was a limited express and famous for her speed. the operator at corridon had said that on this stretch of road, supposed to be clear, she would make up time. if she reached and passed the switch before the runaway, no power on earth could prevent a frightful disaster. and just then, while this fear was tugging at his heart, a faint whistle in the distance drove all the color from his face. 56 was coming! he dared not take his eyes from the road in front, but he knew from the lessened noise behind him that he was increasing his lead. and then as he swept around a slight curve in the road, the abandoned quarry came into view. there were the empty shacks, the deserted platform and, a few rods further on, the switch. he raced to the tracks and threw himself from the machine, almost falling headlong from the momentum, although he had turned off the power. then he grasped the lever and tried to throw the switch. it groaned and creaked, but, although it protested, it yielded to the powerful young muscles that would not be denied. but, when it had moved two-thirds of the way it balked, and, despite his frenzied attempts, refused to budge another inch. and now the runaway engine was coming close, rumbling and roaring hideously, while round the curve, a scant quarter of a mile away, appeared the smokestack of no. 56. looking wildly about for the obstacle, he saw that a stone had been wedged into the frog. he tried to remove it, but the turning of the switch had jammed it against the rail. straightening up, he swung the lever far enough back to release the stone. he worked as if in a nightmare. fifty feet away, the mogul was bearing down like a fire-breathing demon. with one swift movement he threw the stone aside; with the next he bowed his back over the lever until it felt as though it would break. then the rusted rails groaned into place; with an infernal din and uproar the runaway took the switch. scarcely had it cleared the track when 56 thundered past, its wheels sending out streams of sparks as the brakes ground against them. the mogul struck the bumpers with terrific force, tore them away and leaped headlong against the wall of the quarry. there was a crash that could be heard for miles, and the wrecked locomotive reared into the air and then rolled over on its side, enveloped in smoke and hissing steam. as soon as the long train of 56 could be stopped, the throttle was reversed and it came gliding back to the switch. the engineer and fireman sprang from their cab, conductor and trainmen came running up, and the passengers swarmed from the cars. there was a tumult of excited questionings, as they gathered round the young fellow who stood there, panting with the strain of his tremendous efforts. now that he had succeeded in the forlorn hope that he had undertaken, he was beginning to feel the reaction. he responded briefly and modestly to the questions that were showered upon him, and, as the full meaning of their narrow escape from death burst upon them, passengers and trainmen alike were loud in their praise of his presence of mind and thanks for their deliverance. they were for making him a hero, but he shrank from this and would have none of it. "don't thank me," he laughed. "it was this that made it possible;" and he patted the handlebars of the motorcycle. "she certainly did herself proud this day." "she surely is a dandy," smiled the conductor, "but you must admit that you had a _little_ to do with it. we'll never forget what you have done for us to-day. but now we must be starting. we'll put the machine in the baggage car, and you come in here with me." a blast of the whistle and no. 56 had resumed its interrupted journey. a ringing cheer burst from the anxious crowds that surged about the platform as the great train, puffing and snorting, came into the station. the agent, white as a ghost, could not believe his eyes. "thank god," he cried. "i thought it was all over. i've telegraphed for the wrecking crew, and all the doctors in town have been called to go along. how on earth did you escape? where is the mogul?" "you'll find that down in the quarry smashed to bits," answered the conductor. "you'll need the wrecking train for that, all right, but you can call off the doctors. we would have needed plenty of them--and undertakers too--if it hadn't been for this young man. he threw the switch without a second to spare." the station agent grasped the rider's hand and stammered and stuttered, as he tried to pour out his thanks. but just then a flying wedge of college boys came through the crowd and, grabbing the reluctant hero, hoisted him to their shoulders. "wilson." "bert wilson." "o, you bert." "o, you speed boy," they yelled. the enthusiastic lookers on took up the shout and it was a long time before bert, blushing and embarrassed, could free himself from his boisterous admirers. "o, cut it out, fellows," he protested. "it was all in the day's work." "sure," assented tom henderson, "but _such_ a day's work." "and such a worker," added dick trent. "three times three and a tiger for bert wilson," roared a stentorian voice. the answer came in a tempest of cheers, and, as the train pulled out, the last sound that came to the waving passengers was the lusty chorus: "for he's a jolly good fellow, which nobody can deny." chapter ii the "blue streak" "isn't it a beauty?" exclaimed bert, as, a few days later, he swept up to a waiting group of friends and leaped from the saddle. there was a unanimous assent as the boys crowded around the motorcycle, looking at it almost with the rapt intentness of worshippers at a shrine. "it's a dandy, all right," declared dick, with an enthusiasm equal to bert's own. "you skimmed along that last stretch of road like a bird." "it's about the speediest and niftiest thing on the planet," chimed in tom. "you'd give an airship all it wanted to do to keep up with you." "easy, easy there," laughed bert. "i wouldn't go as far as that. but on 'terra cotta,' as mrs. partington calls it, there are mighty few things that will make me take their dust." and he patted the machine with as much affection as if it could feel and respond to the touch. "about how fast can that streak of greased lightning travel, any way?" asked drake. "what's the record for a motorcycle?" "the best so far is a mile in thirty-six and four-fifths seconds," was the answer. "that's at the rate of ninety-eight miles an hour." "some traveling," murmured dick. "of course," went on bert, "that was for a sprint. but even over long distances some great records have been hung up. in england last year a motorcycle made 300 miles in 280 minutes. i don't think the fastest express train in the world has ever beaten that." "gee," said tom, "i'd hate to be in the path of a cannon ball like that. it would be the 'sweet by and by' for yours truly." "it might possibly muss you up some," grinned bert. "it's a case of 'the quick or the dead' when you amble across the path of a twin-cylinder." "i should think," remarked drake, "that it would shake the daylights out of you to travel at the speed you were going just now along that last bit of road." "a few years ago it would have," admitted bert. "the way they bumped along was a sure cure for dyspepsia. but with this saddle i could ride all day and scarcely feel a jar. why, look at this cradle spring frame," he went on enthusiastically; "it has the same flat leaf springs that they use in the finest kind of automobiles. you wouldn't believe that there are over 250 inches of supple, highly tempered springs between the saddle and the road. it's as elastic and flexible as a bamboo cane. each spring has double scrolls that come into action one after another whenever you have a jolt. then, too, there are rubber bumpers to take the recoil. why, it's like a parlor car on a limited express. no fellow sitting back in a pullman has anything on me." "you're a pampered son of luxury, all right," mocked tom. "we children of toil take off our hats to you." bert made a playful pass at him and went on: "as to power, it would take the strength of seven horses to match it. the engine has a piston displacement of 61 inches. and yet you can control that tremendous power so far as to slow down to three miles an hour. not that i often get down to that, though. fifty or sixty suit me better." "you ought to name it 'pegasus,' after the flying horse," suggested hinsdale. "old pegasus would have his work cut out for him if he tried to show me the way," smiled bert. "still i don't claim to beat anything that goes through the air. but when you get down to solid earth, i'd back this daisy of mine to hold its own." "the old red scout might make you hustle some," suggested tom. "yes," admitted bert, "she certainly was a hummer. do you remember the time she ran away from the gray ghost? speed was her middle name that day." "it was, for fair," agreed dick, "but perhaps she went still faster when we scudded up the track that day, with the express thundering behind." "our hearts went faster, anyway," declared tom. "gee, but that was a narrow squeak. it makes me shiver now when i think of it." "same here," echoed bert, little dreaming that before long, on the splendid machine whose handlebars he held, he would graze the very garments of death. happily, however, the future was hidden, and for the moment the little group were absorbed in the mechanical wonders of the motorcycle that loomed large in the road before them. it stood for the last word in up-to-date construction. the inventive genius of the twentieth century had spent itself on every contrivance that would add to its speed, strength and beauty. it was a poem in bronze and steel and rubber. from the extremity of the handlebars in front to the rim of its rear wheel, not the tiniest thing had been overlooked or left undone that could add to its perfection. fork and cams and springs and valves and carburetor--all were of the finest material and the most careful workmanship. "it seemed an awful lot to pay, when i heard that it cost you over three hundred bucks," said tom, "but after looking it over, i guess you got your money's worth." "the value's there, all right," asserted bert confidently. "i wouldn't take that amount of money for the fun i've had already. and what i'm going to have"--he made a comprehensive wave of the hand--"it simply can't be reckoned in cold coin." "it's getting to be a mighty popular way of traveling," said dick. "i saw it stated somewhere that a quarter of a million are in use and that the output is increasing all the time." "yes," added drake, "they certainly cover a wide field. ministers, doctors, rural mail carriers, gas, electric and telephone companies are using them more and more. in the great pastures of the west, the herders use them in making their rounds and looking after the sheep. all the police departments in the big cities employ a lot of them, and in about every foreign army there is a motorcycle corps. you've surely got lots of company, old man." "yes, and we're only the vanguard. the time is coming when they'll be used as widely as the bicycle in its palmiest days." "a bicycle wouldn't have done you much good the other day, in that wild ride down to the switch," grinned drake. "by the way, bert, the press associations got hold of that, and now the whole country's humming with it." "well," said bert, anxious to change the subject, "if she'll only do as well in the race from coast to coast, i won't have any kick coming." "how about that contest anyway?" queried hinsdale. "have you really decided to go into it?" "sure thing," answered bert. "i don't see why i shouldn't. commencement will be over by the eighth, and the race doesn't start until the tenth. that will give me plenty of time to get into shape. as a matter of fact, i'm almost fit now, and reddy is training me for two hours every afternoon. i've almost got down to my best weight already, and i'm going to take the rest off so slowly that i'll be in the pink of condition when the race begins. reddy knows me like a book and he says he never saw me in better form." "of course," he went on thoughtfully, "the game is new to me and i'm not at all sure of winning. but i think i have a chance. i'd like to win for the honor of it and because i hate to lose. and then, too, that purse of ten thousand dollars looks awfully good to me." the race to which the boys referred had been for some time past a subject of eager interest, and had provoked much discussion in sporting and college circles. the idea had been developing since the preceding winter from a chance remark as to the time it would take a motorcycle to go from the atlantic to the pacific. a guess had been hazarded that it could be done in twenty days. this had been disputed, and, as an outcome of the discussion, a general race had been projected to settle the question. the good roads association of america, in conjunction with a number of motorcycle manufacturers, had offered a purse of five thousand dollars for the competitor who made the journey in the shortest time. if that time came within twenty days, an additional two thousand dollars was to be given to the winner. one other element entered into the problem. the san francisco exposition, designed to celebrate the opening of the panama canal, would be in full swing at the time the survivors of the race reached the coast. one of the great features of the fair was to be an international carnival of sports. there were to be contests in cavalry riding, in fencing, in auto racing, and the pick of the world were expected to compete. but of special interest to bert was the international motorcycle race, which for the first time was to be held in america. two years before, it had taken place in paris and, a year later, in london. but this year it was america's turn, and because of the immense crowds expected at the exposition, san francisco had been chosen as the city to stage the event. there was to be a first prize of three thousand dollars and lesser purses for those that came in second and third. if, by any chance, the winner of the long distance race should break the twenty day limit and also win the final race at the fair, his total reward would amount to ten thousand dollars. with such a possibility in prospect, it was not surprising that bert should be strongly tempted to enter the race. he was a natural athlete, and in his college course so far had stood head and shoulders above his competitors. as pitcher on the 'varsity team, he had cinched the pennant by his superb twirling in a most exciting series of diamond battles. he had been chosen as a contender on the american olympic team, and had carried off the marathon after a heart-breaking race, in which every ounce of speed and stamina had been tried to the utmost. in an auto race between rival campers, his hand at the wheel had guided the red scout to victory over the gray ghost, its redoubtable antagonist. he was a splendid physical machine of brawn and sinew and nerve and muscle. outdoor life, vigorous exercise and clean living, combined with his natural gifts, made him a competitor to be feared and respected in any contest that he chose to enter. but his lithe, supple body was not his only, or indeed, his chief asset. what made him preã«minent was his quick mind and indomitable will, of which his body was only the servant. his courage and audacity were superb. again and again he had been confronted with accidents and discouragements that would have caused a weaker fellow to quit and blame the result on fate. he had won the deciding game in the baseball race, after his comrades had virtually thrown it away. in the marathon, it was with bruised and bleeding feet that he overtook his antagonist at the very tape. the harder bad luck tried to down him, the more fiercely he rose in rebellion. and it was this bulldog grip, this unshaken tenacity, this "never know when you are beaten" spirit that put him in a class by himself and made him the idol of his comrades. they had seen him so often snatch victory from the very jaws of defeat, that they were prepared to back him to the limit. win or lose, they knew that he would do his best, and, if defeated, go down fighting. with such a character and record back of him, his enthusiastic friends were inclined to think that it was "all over but the shouting." bert, however, had no such delusion. if it had been simply a matter of muscle or swiftness or courage, he would have felt more confident of the outcome. but here the "human equation" was not the only thing involved. the quality and strength of the machine he rode would be a very prominent and perhaps a deciding factor. he felt sure that he was in such prime physical condition that he could endure the gruelling grind. but would his machine be equal to the task? the most dashing horseman would have to halt, if his steed foundered beneath him. the most daring aviator would have to descend to earth, if his motor stopped. so bert, no matter how strong and plucky, must fail, if his machine should go back on him. for there could be no substitute. this was one of the conditions of the race. he must finish, if at all, on the same machine with which he started. the contestants were permitted to make repairs to any extent. tires, forks, springs and any other parts could be replaced, and, at intervals along the route, supplies could be held in readiness, in addition to those that the rider carried. but essentially the identical machine must be used throughout the race. in the event of a hopeless smashup, the luckless rider was, of course, out for good. the racer and the machine were thus indispensable to each other. neither could win if the other balked. they were like the two blades of a shears--strong when together but useless when separated. to guard as much as possible against defects, bert had been especially careful in selecting his motorcycle. he had the eye for a machine that a gipsy has for a horse. among a host of others, he had chosen one that appealed to him as the acme of what a motorcycle should be. it was a seven horse power, twin cylinder racer, with every appliance and improvement known at the time it left the factory. the brakes, for instance, were more powerful than those fitted to any previous type. it could be operated by a foot lever on the right side of the machine and also by a grip lever in the left handlebar. the double action was caused by the expansion and contraction of two bands inside and outside a brake drum. then, too, there was a foot-starting device that was a marvel of simplicity. a single downward pressure of the foot, and the racer started off at once. an improved rear hub also aroused bert's enthusiasm, because of its extra large size and the fact that it ran on ball bearings that were absolutely frictionless. in both the front and rear hubs there was a knock-out axle, so that the wheels could be removed without interfering with the adjustment of the bearings. in fact, the more bert studied what had become his most precious possession the more convinced he grew that he had secured a "gem of the first water." and now that the first stiffness had worn off, the machine was "running like a watch." the ignition was perfect, the transmission left nothing to be desired, and the most critical inspection could find no fault with any detail of the steel charger that was to carry him and his fortunes to victory or defeat. "what are you going to christen it, bert?" asked tom. "cut out the pegasus stuff and tell it to us straight." "on the level, i think i'll call it the 'blue streak,'" answered bert. "that's the way it covers the ground, as a rule, and i hope it will be prophetic. besides, blue is our college color and it ought to bring me luck. that's the color i wore when we took the grays and maroons into camp, and i had it at my belt when i collared dorner in the stadium. everything goes in threes, you know, and this will be the third time i'm out to win since i was a freshie." "bully for you, old top," exclaimed drake, with a rousing thump on the shoulder. "the fellows will be tickled to death to know that the good old blue is showing the way across country. and when we hear that you've come in first, there'll be a yell that you'll hear way off in frisco." "don't count your chickens too soon, my boy," cautioned bert; but his heart was warmed and elated by the confidence his comrades had in him, and he vowed to himself that he would justify it, if it were humanly possible. "to judge from the names already entered, it's going to be a weird color scheme," laughed dick. "there's the yellow dragon and the red devil and the brown antelope and the white cloud and the black knight; and there'll probably be others before the list is full." "gee," chortled tom, "if a hobo should see them coming all at once, he'd think that he had them again, sure." "yes," agreed bert, "it would certainly be a crazy quilt effect, if they should all come along together. but there are so many different routes that, ten to one, we won't catch sight of each other after the bunch scatters at the start." "how about the route?" asked martin. "i should think that would be one of the most important things to take into account." "so it would, if it were left to me. but it isn't. you see, one of the great objects of the good roads association is to plan a great national highway from coast to coast. they want to get all the facts about every possible route, so that they'll have something to go on, when they put it up to the different states to get legislation on their pet hobby. this race they think will be of great importance for this purpose, because it won't be based on theory but on actual experience. so they have mapped out a large number of possible lines to be followed--northern, central and southern,--and when they've got them all marked out, lots will be drawn and the fellows will have to follow the route that chance gives them. of course, they can't be exactly alike in the matter of distance. but it will be as fair for one as the other, and, all things considered, they'll average up about alike. i expect to get a letter any day now, giving the special trip that luck has picked out for me. "of course," he went on, "it isn't all absolutely cut and dried. they don't mark out every highway and byway that you must travel, on pain of being disqualified. but you're given a chain of important towns and great centers that you must hit one after the other on your trip across the continent. as long as you do that, you are left to your own judgment as to the best and quickest way of getting there." "how about any crooked work?" put in axtell. "is there any chance of that?" "i'm not worrying much about that," answered bert. "to be sure, where so much is at stake, there's always a chance of some one trying to turn a trick. but i don't see where they could 'put it over.' at every important place there'll be timers and checkers to keep tally on the riders. the machines are all registered and numbered and so carefully described that, in case of a smashup, a fellow couldn't slip in another one without being found out at the next stopping place. then, too, if they tried to get a lift on a train, there would have to be too many in the secret. besides, in all the names i've seen so far of the racers, there's only one that might possibly stoop to anything of that kind. his name is hayward, and from what i've heard he's been mixed up with one or two shady deals. there have only been whispers and suspicions, however, and they've never been able actually to prove anything against him. so he is still nominally in good standing and eligible to ride. it may be all conjecture anyway. he probably wouldn't cheat if he could, and couldn't if he would." "no," said dick, "it certainly seems as though the best man and the best machine ought to win." "i understand that the race is to start from new york," remarked drake. "yes," answered bert, preparing to mount the machine, "from one of the beaches near the city. it's to be actually from ocean to ocean. the rear wheel is to be wet in the atlantic. then the fight is on in earnest and only ends when the front wheel is dipped in the pacific." "'twill be some race," remarked martin. "you'll have to travel like the wind," warned hinsdale. "yes," laughed bert, as he threw in the clutch, "to make it in twenty days, i'll have to go like a blue streak." chapter iii from coast to coast the next few days flew by with magical swiftness. there were a thousand things to be done, and bert found himself wishing that each day had a hundred hours instead of twenty-four. the term examinations were on, and he buckled down to them manfully. he had never neglected his class work in favor of athletic sports and his standing had always been high. he worked as hard as he played, and in both study and games was up in the front rank. but when these ordeals were over and he had passed triumphantly, every spare moment was devoted to the coming race. he put into his preparation all his heart and soul. and in this, he was ably aided and abetted by reddy, the college trainer. "reddy," as he was called from the flaming mop of hair that adorned his far from classic brow, was a character. for many years he had been in complete control of the football, baseball and general track teams of the college. he had formerly been a crack second baseman in a major league, but an injured ankle had forced his withdrawal from the active playing ranks. he had a shrewd, though uneducated, mind, and his knowledge of sports and ability as a trainer had made him famous in the athletic world. his dry wit and genial disposition made him a great favorite with the boys, though he ruled with an iron hand when discipline was needed. he was especially proud and fond of bert for two reasons. in the first place, his trainers' soul rejoiced in having such a superb physical specimen to develop into a winner. he had so often been called upon to "make bricks without straw," that he exulted in this splendid material ready to his hand. and when his faith had been justified by the great victories that bert had won, reddy felt that it was, in part, his own personal triumph. then, too, bert had never shirked or broken training. his sense of honor was high and fine, and he kept as rigidly to his work in the trainer's absence as in his presence. reddy had never had to put detectives on his track or search him out in the poolrooms and saloons of the town. he was true to himself, true to his team, true to his college, and could always be counted on to be in first-class condition. so that, although this was not a college event, reddy took a keen personal interest in the coming contest. every afternoon, he held the watch while bert circled the track, and he personally superintended the bath and rubdown, after the test was over. he knew the exact weight at which his charge was most effective, and he took off the superfluous flesh just fast enough not to weaken him. and his irish blue eyes twinkled with satisfaction, as he noted that just now he had never seen him in better shape for the task that lay before him. "ye'll do," he said, with an air of finality, two days before the race, as he snapped his split-second chronometer, after a whirlwind sprint. "i'll not tell ye jist the time ye made for that last five miles, as i don't want ye to get the swelled head. but, my word for it, ye're on edge, and i don't want ye to touch that machine again until ye face the starter. ye're down fine enough and i don't want ye to go stale before the race begins. i've left jist enough beef on ye to give ye a wee bit of a margin to work off. the rest is solid bone and muscle, and, if the machine is as good as yerself, ye'll get to the coast first with something to spare." "well," said bert warmly, "it will be your victory as well as mine if i do. you're my 'one best bet' when it comes to getting into form. i wouldn't have had half a chance to pull off any of the stunts i have, if it hadn't been for you." but reddy tossed this lightly aside. "not a bit of it," he protested, "'tis yersilf has done the work, and yersilf should get the credit. and ye've done it too in the face of accident and hard luck. this time i'm hoping that luck will be on yer side. and to make sure," he grinned, "i'm going to give yer a sprig of four-leaved shamrock that came to me from the folks at home, last seventeenth of march. 'twill not be hurting ye any to have it along with yer." "sure thing," laughed bert. "i'll slip it in the tool box and carry it every foot of the way." and as reddy had groomed bert, so bert groomed his machine. every nut and bolt, valve and spring was gone over again and again, until even his critical judgment was satisfied. it was to carry not only his fortune but perhaps his life, and he did not rest until he was convinced that nothing could add to its perfection. it had become almost a part of himself, and it was with a feeling of reluctance that at last he had it carefully crated and sent on to the starting point, to await his coming forty-eight hours later. that evening, as he returned from the post office, he met tom and dick at the foot of the steps leading to their dormitory. he waved at them an open letter that he had been reading. "it's from the committee," he explained. "it gives the route and final instructions. come up to the rooms and we'll go over it together." a bond of friendship, far from common, united these three comrades--the "three guardsmen," as they were jokingly called, because they were so constantly together. they had first met at a summer camp, some years before, and a strong similarity of character and tastes had drawn them to each other at once. from that time on, it had been "one for three and three for one." full to the brim as they were of high spirits and love of adventure, they often got into scrapes from which it required all their nerve and ingenuity to emerge with a whole skin. their supreme confidence in themselves often led them to take chances from which older and wiser heads would have shrunk. and the various exploits in which they had indulged had taught each how fully and absolutely he might rely on the others. on more than one occasion, death itself had been among the possibilities, but even that supreme test had been met without flinching. only a few months before, when, on their journey through mexico, dick had fallen into the hands of el tigre, the dreaded leader of guerillas, bert and tom had taken the trail at once, and after a most exciting chase, had rescued him from the bandit's clutches. during a trip to the adirondacks, tom had been bitten by a rattler and would have perished, had it not been for bert's quickness of mind and swiftness of foot. and bert himself never expected to come closer to death than that day on the san francisco wharf, when dick had grasped the knife hand of the malay running amuck, just as it was upraised to strike. any man or any danger that threatened one would have to count on tackling three. each knew that in a pinch the others would stick at nothing in the effort to back him up. and this conviction, growing stronger with every new experience, had cemented their friendship beyond all possibility of breaking. their early ties had ripened and broadened under the influence of their college life. dick had entered a year before the other two, and it was this that had moved them to choose the same alma mater. dick and tom were studying to be civil engineers, while bert was more strongly drawn toward the field of electricity and wireless telegraphy. their keen intelligence had won them high honors in scholarship, and their brawn and muscle had achieved an enviable distinction in athletics. on the pennant winning team of the year before, bert's brilliant pitching had been ably supported by the star work of tom at third, while dick, beside being the champion slugger of the team, had held down first base like a veteran. all were immensely popular with the student body in general, not only for their prowess, but because of the qualities of mind and heart that would have singled them out anywhere as splendid specimens of young american manhood. bert and dick roomed together, while tom's quarters were on the floor below. now, as it was nearer, they all piled into tom's sitting-room, eager to discuss the contents of the official letter. "here it is," said bert, as he tossed it over to the others. "you see, i have the southern route." "o, thunder," groaned tom, "the toughest of the lot. you'll fairly melt down there at this time of year." "it _is_ rough," said dick. "the roads there are something fierce. the northern or central route would have been ten times better." "yes," agreed bert, "it certainly is a handicap. if i'd been left to choose, myself, i wouldn't have dreamed of going that way. still, it's all a matter of lot, and i've got no kick coming. somebody would have had to draw it, and i might as well be the victim as any one else." "spoken like a sport, all right," grumbled tom. "but it makes me sore at fate. you'll need something more than reddy's shamrock to make up for it." "you might hunt me up the hind foot of a rabbit, shot by a cross-eyed coon in a graveyard, in the 'dark of the moon,' if you want to make sure of my winning," jested bert. "but, seriously, fellows, i'm not going to let that rattle me a little bit. it may be harder, but if i do come in first, there'll be all the more credit in winning. as for the heat, i'll make my own breeze as i go along, and i'll take my chances on the roads." "well, i suppose there's no use growling," admitted tom, grudgingly. "at any rate, we'll see a section of the country we've never seen before." "_we_," cried bert. "what do you mean by that?" "just what i say," answered tom, looking a little guiltily at dick. "what," yelled bert, leaping to his feet. "are you two rascals going along?" "surest thing you know," said dick, calmly. "did you think for a minute that tom and i would miss the fun of seeing you scoot across the continent and win that ten thousand dollars? not on your life. we were going to surprise you, but since this dub has let the cat out of the bag, we might as well own up. there's nothing to do, now that we know the route but to go out and get the tickets." "well, you're a pair of bricks," gasped bert. "the finest pals a fellow ever had. that's the best news i've had 'since hector was a pup.' i didn't know that i'd see a friend's face from the start to the finish. talk about shamrocks and rabbit's feet! this news has got them skinned to death. it won't be any trick at all to toss off a few hundred miles, if i can figure on seeing you fellows when i turn in for the night. say, fellows, i can't put it into words, but you know how i feel." "pure selfishness on our part," said dick, airily, to mask his own deep feeling. "we want to see the san francisco fair, and figured that we'd never have a better chance." "yes," mocked bert, delightedly, "i size up that selfishness all right. but now let's study the route and figure out the schedule. then you gay deceivers can get through tickets with stopover privileges, and i'll know just where to find you along the way." "you see," explained tom, "we figured that we could get into the big towns ahead of you and act as a sort of base of supplies. you can keep tab on the way the 'blue streak' is running, and if anything goes wrong--if a tire bursts or a fork breaks or you have engine trouble--you can wire ahead and we'll have everything ready for you to make a lightning change the minute you heave in sight. of course, you may have to do some temporary patching and tinkering along the way, but in really big things we may come in handy. but now let's cut out the hallelujahs and get down to brass tacks." which they did to such good effect that before they turned in for the night, they had outlined a plan that covered every probable contingency. of course there was no such precision possible as in the case of a railroad schedule. a hundred things might happen to cause a change here, a delay there, but, between certain elastic limits, the route and time were carefully worked out. if they should have to revise it, as they doubtless would, the telegraph and long distance telephone could be depended on to help them out. starting from new york, bert figured that the first leg of the journey would take him as far as philadelphia. this, of course, would not be typical of the regular distance he would have to cover each day, in order to beat the time record. but the race was not to start until noon, so that a half day was all that would be left the riders. and that half day would be slower than the average, because they would have to thread the streets of the greater city with all its hindrances and speed regulations, and would have bridges and ferries to cross before they could fairly let themselves out. of course this would not count for a day in the timing, as they would be allowed a half day at the end of the journey to make up for it. in other words, the day ran from noon to noon, instead of from midnight to midnight. from philadelphia the route would lead to baltimore and washington. then he proposed to strike down through west virginia and into the famous blue grass region of kentucky and thence swing down toward little rock, arkansas, which would mark the extreme southern point of the journey. after that, he would be going almost directly west, with a slight trend to the north. he would cut through oklahoma on a direct horizontal, and then for a short time traverse the upper part of texas. leaving the lone star state, he would strike in succession santa fã©, new mexico, and flagstaff, arizona. then, at last, he would be in california, getting a glimpse of the sea at santa barbara, and then sweeping up the valley to san francisco. the record he had to beat was twenty days. he planned to do it in fifteen. that is, he was confident that as far as mere time were concerned, he could reel off enough miles every day to take him over the route within that limit. but that was assuming that everything went smoothly, and, in a trip of this length, he knew that such an assumption was absurd. he gave himself three days for accidents and delays. this, added to the fifteen of actual running time, would still give him a comfortable margin of forty-eight hours. but, on the average, despite accident or breakdown, wind or rain, sickness or health, mistaken roads or dangerous spills, flood or freshet or tempest, he must make from two to three hundred miles every day. not only he must be in shape to do it, but the "blue streak" also. there were two machines that had to take all the chances of wear and tear and mishap--the physical machine above the saddle, and the steel and rubber machine below it. he wanted to make the most of the good roads that he would have at the very beginning of the trip. the first three days would be the best ones, as far as this feature was concerned. the eastern and northern states were far ahead of the rest of the country in this respect. their wealth and population, as well as the vastly greater number of motor vehicles in use, had early turned their attention to the value and necessity of the best kind of roads that money could buy and science invent. after he left louisville, the going would be harder. while, at places, there would be magnificent turnpikes along the main arteries of travel, these would be more than counterbalanced by roads where clay and sand predominated. but, to make up for this, would be the fact that for long distances the roads would be clearer and the speed regulations less stringent. and, on these stretches, bert promised himself to "hit it up" hard enough to compensate for the inferior quality of the road. it was "all in the game," and, in the long run, things would about even up. "it's a good deal of a lottery, when all is said and done," was the way he summed it up, as they rose from the maps and papers spread out before them; "i may get knocked out on the first day, and then again i may turn up smiling at the finish." "of course," assented tom, "there's no telling what may happen before the race is over. but i have a hunch that in this lottery you are going to draw the capital prize." "well," laughed bert, "if you're as good a prophet as you are a pal, i'd be sure of it." chapter iv a flying start the day of the race dawned bright and clear. there was just enough breeze to temper the heat of the sun, but not enough to interfere with the riders. there had been no rain since three days before, and the roads, while a little dusty, were firm and fast. everything bespoke ideal conditions for the event that, it was hoped, would hang up new records in one of the most modern of sports. the three friends had left college the day before, and had taken up their quarters at one of the hotels near the beach. they were full of health and hope and enthusiasm. the work of the college year was over, and they felt like colts kicking up their heels in a pasture. dick and tom were looking forward to the trip across the continent and the wonders of the great exposition. this of itself would have been enough to account for their exuberance, but there was the added excitement of watching the progress of the great race, and, in a sense, taking part in it. and, with all the optimism of youth, they did not let themselves feel the shadow of a doubt that their comrade would come in triumphant. and bert, although somewhat sobered by the weight of responsibility that rested upon him, was almost as jubilant as they. he was a born fighter, and his spirits always rose on the eve of a contest. he was "tuned to the hour." the muscles of his arms and legs glided like snakes beneath the white skin, his color was good, his eyes shone, and he had never in all his many contests felt in better physical trim. early in the morning, he had hurried to the garage to which the "blue streak" had been consigned, and was delighted to find that it had made the journey without a scratch. no one but himself was permitted to give it the final grooming. he personally filled the tank, looked to the oil, and went over every nut and bolt and valve. then he sprang into the saddle and took a five-mile spin around the neighboring race track. and even his exacting criticism could find no shadow of defect. the "blue streak," like its master, was in perfect condition. "well, old boy," said bert, as he patted the beautiful machine, after the test, "we're going to be pretty close companions for the next few weeks, and you've got a big job cut out for you. but i believe you're game for it, and if your rider is as good as you are, i won't have anything left to ask." as the hour drew near, a great crowd assembled to see the start. the contest had stirred up a vast amount of interest among motor enthusiasts, and many of the motorcycle clubs were represented by big delegations. one or two of the entries had dropped out at the last moment, and there were ten contestants who faced the starter. each had his coterie of friends and well wishers who had gathered to give him a rousing send off. but none were greeted so uproariously as bert, who had a reception that "warmed the cockles of his heart." undergraduates of the old college flocked around him, and these were reinforced by hundreds of alumni, living in or near the city, who scented one more victory for the blue colors that they loved so dearly. they swarmed about him, grasped his hand and thumped him on the back, until if he had been in poorer condition, he would have been black and blue. it was with difficulty that he could tear himself away from the multitude whose enthusiasm outran their discretion. but many a day thereafter, in loneliness and peril and the shadow of death, the memory of that boisterous farewell was an inspiration. the last hands he clasped were those of tom and dick and reddy, whose face was as red as his hair from excitement. "good luck, me bye," he called. then in a whisper, "ye haven't forgot the shamrock?" "you bet i haven't," laughed bert, and lifting the cover of his tool box, he showed it lying on top. whereat, reddy heaved a sigh of relief, and fell back satisfied. and now everything was ready for the start. the wheels had been dipped in the atlantic, whose surf curled up to meet them, as though to whisper a message to its sister ocean. then all the riders, standing by their machines, were drawn up in line on the boulevard that came down almost to the beach. the conditions of the race were read aloud and all of the racers with uplifted hand swore to observe them. a letter from the mayor of new york to the mayor of san francisco was delivered to each contestant. only the one who reached there first was to deliver his. the others would be of value as souvenirs of perhaps a gallant but unsuccessful struggle. then there was a moment's silence, while the excitement grew tense. the starter lifted his pistol and glanced along the waiting line. there came a flash, a sharp report, and before the echoes died away the riders were in the saddle. a tremendous roar from the exhausts made the crowd shrink back, and it scattered as the great machines leaped forward. it was like the bursting of a rainbow. blue and red and black and white darted forward in flying streaks of color, spreading out like the sticks of a gigantic fan. before the startled spectators could catch their breath, the racers were vanishing from sight up the boulevard. the dash from coast to coast had begun. for the five mile ride along the parkway there was no need of observing the speed regulations. the road had been kept clear of all other vehicles, and policemen placed along the route kept the crowds to the paths on either side. the "motor cops," who were personally interested in that race, that involved their own pet machine, waved greetings as they passed. in a few minutes they had left this atmosphere of friendliness and enthusiasm, and were getting into the stream of the city's traffic. from now on, there was need of constant vigilance. the riders began to separate, each steering through the street that they figured would bring them most quickly and easily to the bridges that spanned the river. by the time bert had crossed the old brooklyn bridge, he had lost sight of all his competitors. by different roads, from now on, they would fly toward the common goal, so many thousand miles distant. the spectacular features were in the past. now each one, alone and unaided, was to "work out his own salvation." but there was no sinking of the heart, as bert, after crossing the bridge and winding through the packed streets of lower new york, stood on the ferry boat and watched the irregular sky line of the great city. what would happen to him before he saw it again, it was fortunate that he could not guess. but just now, his heart beat high with the delight of struggle and achievement. he had his chance. and he was determined to make that chance a certainty. he was the first one off the boat when it swung into its slip, and as soon as he got beyond the business quarter of jersey city, he began to "eat up" the space across the meadows. he was flying when he reached newark, where he again had to let up in his pace for a few minutes. but luck was with him and gave him an unexpected pace maker, just as he drew into the open spaces beyond the city limits. the broad road ran right alongside the railroad track, and just as bert let out a link and got into his stride, a limited express came thundering along at a high rate of speed. the racing instinct woke in bert and he let his machine out until it was traveling like the wind. for a mile or two they went along like a team, neither seeming able to lose the other. the passengers, gazing listlessly out of the windows, gradually woke up to the fact that this tiny machine was actually racing with their train. at first they were amused at the seeming impudence, but as mile after mile passed, with the "blue streak" holding its own, they became excited. the sportsman spirit that seems characteristic of america was aroused, and all the windows on that side of the train were filled with crowding faces. it was like a pygmy daring a giant, a tugboat challenging the _imperator_. the engineer, at first looking languidly at the impertinent racer, made no special effort to increase his speed. but when bert hung to his flank and refused to be shaken off, he turned and said something to his fireman. the latter shoveled desperately, the engineer let out his throttle, and the great train lunged forward. but bert, too, had something "up his sleeve." he had been keeping well within his limit, and he knew the speed of which his gallant mount was capable. a mile ahead he could see where the road crossed the track. with a quick twist of the wrist, he threw in the highest speed and had to grip his handlebars hard to keep his seat as his iron steed responded. he flashed on ahead, fairly scorching up the road, and dashed across the track fifty feet ahead of the onrushing locomotive. then, as the passengers rushed over to the other side of the cars, he waved his cap to them, shook it defiantly at the discomfited engineer and fireman, and disappeared around the bend of the road. then he gradually slackened his pace, though still maintaining a high rate of speed. bert was hilarious. it was his first race, so far, and he had come out ahead. he took it as an omen. "some race, old scout," he confided joyously to his mount. "you certainly lived up to your name that time." and he laughed aloud, as he remembered the look on the faces in the cab. the race had been a capital thing, not only for the many miles he had covered, but because of the added confidence that had been infused into his veins by the successful outcome. he had "ridden rings" around his redoubtable opponent, and his heart was full of elation. as he neared trenton, he stopped at a garage to replenish his gasoline. he had plenty left to finish out the stretch that he had mapped out for that day's work, but he was taking no chances, and always felt better when he knew that his tank was full. a tall young fellow had preceded him on the same errand, and was just about to mount his wheel when bert entered. there was something familiar about him and bert cudgeled his brains to remember where he had met him. the stranger seemed equally puzzled. then a sudden gleam of memory lighted up his face, and he came toward bert with outstretched hand. "beg pardon," he said. "but isn't your name wilson--bert wilson, the college pitcher?" "yes," answered bert, taking the hand held out to him, "and you--sure i know," he exclaimed, as recognition flashed upon him--"you're gunther of the maroons. i couldn't place you for a minute." "you placed me all right in that last game, when you struck me out in the ninth inning," grinned gunther. "do you remember?" did bert remember? could he ever forget? again the scene came before him as though it were yesterday. he saw the diamond gleaming in the afternoon sun, the stands packed with twenty-five thousand howling maniacs. it was the final game of the season, and the pennant hung upon the outcome. two men were out when gunther came to the bat. he was the heaviest slugger of the league, and the home crowd was begging him to "kill the ball." bert had outguessed him on the first strike, and snapped one over by surprise on the second. then, on the third, he had cut loose that mighty "fadeaway" of his. for forty feet it had gone on a line--hesitated--swerved sharply down and in, and, evading gunther's despairing swing, plumped into the catcher's mitt. and the howl that went up--and the mighty swoop of the fellows on the field--and the wild enthusiasm over bert--and the bonfires--and the snake dances! did he remember? "you certainly had me buffaloed that day, all right," went on gunther. "it isn't often that i hit a foot above a ball, but that fadeaway of yours had me going. i simply couldn't gauge it. it's a teaser, for fair. you were the whole team that day." "we had the luck, that's all," protested bert. "the breaks of the game were with us." "it wasn't luck," said gunther, generously; "you simply outplayed us. but we did make you work to win," he added, with a reminiscent smile. by this time, the tank had been replenished, and he was recalled from his "fanning bee" by the necessity of resuming his trip. gunther had heard of the contest and had seen bert's name among the competitors, but had not associated it with the wilson of baseball fame. "you can't get away from the game," he joked, referring to the ten contestants. "i see that you are still playing against a 'nine.' if that pun isn't bad enough, i'll go you one better--or worse--and bet that you'll bowl them over like ninepins." "thanks, old man," responded bert. "i hope i'll make a 'strike.' but now i'll have to skip and cut out the merry jesting. jump on your wheel and set the pace for me for the next ten miles or so." "swell chance of my making pace for that crackerjack you have there," said gunther, looking admiringly at the "blue streak," "but i'll try to keep alongside, anyway." he had a surprisingly good machine and doubled bert's dare by riding twenty miles or more, before he finally hauled up and, with a warm handgrip, said goodby. "two pleasant things to-day," mused bert, as he sped on, referring to the popular theory that events, good or bad, come in threes. "i guess the third will be in meeting good old tom and dick, when i swing into the city of brotherly love." and pleasant it certainly was, when, after reporting to the checkers and timers at the club headquarters, and putting up his motorcycle, he turned toward the hotel where his chums awaited him with a royal welcome. "you've surely got off to a flying start, old top," said tom. "i hadn't any idea that you'd hit this burg so soon. we've just fairly got in ourselves. but before anything else, let's wrap ourselves about some eats. are you hungry?" "am i hungry?" echoed bert. "is a wolf hungry? is a hawk hungry? is a cormorant--say, lead me to it." and at the bountiful table to which they straightway adjourned, bert proved that none of the natural history specimens he had mentioned "had anything on him." nor did his friends lag far behind, and it is doubtful if three happier and fuller young fellows could have been found in philadelphia, as, afterward, they discussed the events of the day. they were especially interested in bert's meeting with gunther, as they themselves had taken part in that famous game. dick's mighty work with the stick on that occasion and tom's great steal home from third were matters of baseball history. then bert mentioned the railroad episode. "you ought to have seen the way i beat a train, fellows," he gloated. "my, but it took some tall speeding." "beat a train?" questioned tom, incredulously. "what was it--a freight?" bantered dick. "freight nothing," retorted bert, a little nettled. "a limited express, if you ask me." "near newark, did you say?" queried tom. "i didn't say," was bert's rejoinder, "but as it happened, it was just outside of newark." "beat a limited express," murmured dick, shaking his head. "tom, i'm afraid bert's stringing us." "imposing on our innocence, it seems to me," assented tom, gloomily. "the next thing, he'll be telling us that he made a daredevil dash across the track in front of the locomotive." "and waved his cap at the passengers," mourned dick. "and shook it at the engineer," added tom. "say," began bert, "what----" but the sight of his bewildered face was too much, and they burst into a roar. "you poor boob," sputtered tom, as soon as he could speak. "we were on that train." chapter v the deserted hut bert's first thought, when he opened his eyes the next morning, was of the weather. this was destined to be the chief object of anxiety all through the trip. as long as it kept reasonably dry and clear, one big element of danger and delay could be left out of his calculations. the lowering of the sky meant the lowering of his hopes. as he rushed to the window and drew aside the curtain, he was relieved to see that the sun was rising. to be sure, there was a slight haze around it that might portend rain later on. but for the present, at least, the roads were good. if rain were on the way, all the more reason why he should do some tall "hustling" while the going was fair. his sleep had been restful and refreshing, and he hummed gaily to himself, as he rushed through his ablutions. he stowed away a hasty but ample breakfast, and then after a hearty farewell to his chums, hurried around to the garage where his machine was stored. he was surprised to find a large gathering of motorcycle enthusiasts on hand. the news had spread abroad that one of the contestants in the great race had reached the city the night before, and delegations from the many clubs had gathered to give him a send-off and accompany him for a few miles out of town. bert greeted them warmly, and, after assuring himself that the "blue streak" was in first-class condition, leaped into the saddle and started out at the head of the procession. first one and then the other would make the pace, sprinting for a short distance for all that he was worth, and then dropping back into the ruck. but bert "saw their bluff and went them one better," and no matter how hard they "hit it up," he was always within striking distance of their rear wheel. one by one they gave it up, and by the time that thirty miles had been covered, bert found himself riding on alone. he had welcomed the visitors, because of the goodwill that they had shown and the pace that they had made. their company made the miles less long and furnished him a mental tonic. yet he was glad, when, with nothing to distract him, he could bend all his energies to the task before him and put the "blue streak" to the top of its speed. for he wanted to make this day a record breaker in the matter of miles covered. the roads were superb, and it behooved him to make the most of them, with a view to having some surplus of time on hand, when he struck the slower stretches further on. there was plenty about him to enlist his thoughts, had he allowed them to wander. he was on historic ground, and every foot was rich in revolutionary memories. here had washington with his ragged and barefooted and hungry armies defied all the power of great britain. mifflin and greene and lafayette and "light horse harry lee" had here done deeds of daring that electrified the world. and, before night, he expected to be on the scene of that greater and sadder struggle, where grant and lee had flung their giant armies at each other and drenched the soil with fraternal blood. but, although bert was an ardent patriot, and, at any other time, nothing would have more strongly appealed to him, now he was utterly engrossed in the colossal task set before him. this, in fact, was the one great quality that had won him so many victories in the athletic world--the ability of shutting out every thing else for the time being, and concentrating all his strength and attention on the task that lay at hand. now, he was fairly flying. mile after mile swept away behind him, as he gave the "blue streak" its head and let it show him what it could do. the "speed lust" ran riot in his veins. as he neared the different villages, on his route, he was forced to slacken speed to some extent. it would never do to be arrested for breaking the speed limit. he foresaw all the heart-breaking delay, the officious constable, the dilatory country justice of the peace, the crowd of gaping rustics, the possible jail detention. he was amply supplied with money to meet any possible fine--but imprisonment was another matter, that might be fraught with the direst consequences. so, although he inwardly raged at the necessity, he curbed his natural impulse, and slowed up at crossings and country towns. but when again he found himself out in the open, he amply reimbursed himself for "crawling," as he called it, through the towns. it is doubtful whether the startled townspeople would have called it "crawling." but everything in this world is comparative, and where they would have thought themselves flying at twenty miles an hour, bert felt that he was creeping at forty. few faster things had ever flashed like a streak of light along the country roads. horses, grazing in the adjoining pastures, after one wild glance, tossed up their heels and fled madly across the fields. even the cows, placidly chewing their cud, were roused from their bovine calm and struggled to their feet. chickens, squawking wildly, ran across the road, and although bert tried his best to avoid them, more than one paid the penalty for miscalculating his speed. dogs started fiercely in pursuit, and then disgustedly gave it up and crept away with their tail between their legs. and all the time the speedometer kept creeping rapidly up and up, until, within two hours after the start, he had wiped a hundred miles off his schedule. just once he had stopped in his mad flight, to get a glass of milk at a farmhouse. he was in the pennsylvania dutch district, the richest and thriftiest farming country in the world. all about him were opulent acres and waving fields of corn and big red barns crammed to bursting. they were worthy, sober people, rather prone to regard every new invention as a snare of the devil, and the farmer's wife was inclined to look askance at the panting machine that bert bestrode. but his friendly, genial face thawed her prejudice and reserve, and she smilingly refused the money that he had offered for the rich creamy milk she brought from one of the shining pans in her dairy. by ten o'clock, he had passed through baltimore, and, before noon, he was riding over the splendid roads of the nation's capitol. here, despite the temptation to spend an hour or two, he only paused long enough to take a hearty meal and check his time. he thrust aside the well-meant invitations that were pressed upon him at the club, and by two o'clock had left washington behind him and was riding like a fiend toward west virginia. he wanted if possible to reach charleston before night closed in. if he could do this, he would be very well content to dismount and call it a day's work. but now old nature took a hand. all through the morning, the haze had been thickening, and now black clouds, big with threats of rain, were climbing up the sky. the wind, too, was rising and came soughing along in fitful gusts. every moment now was precious, and bert bent low, as he coaxed his machine to do its utmost. and it responded beautifully. like sheridan's horse on the road to winchester, it seemed to feel the mood of its rider. it was working like a charm. mile after mile sped away beneath the wheels that passed light as a ghost over the broad path beneath. even when it had to tackle hills, it never hesitated or faltered, but went up one slope almost as fast as it went down another. and the hills were growing more frequent. up to this time the roads had been almost as level as a floor. but now, bert was approaching the foothills of the blue ridge, and not until he struck the lowlands of arkansas, would he be out of the shadow of the mountains, which, while they added immensely to the sublimity of the scenery, were no friends to any one trying to make a record for speed. still, this did not worry bert. he expected to get the "lean" as well as the "fat." the north american continent had not been framed to meet his convenience, and he had to take it as it came. all that especially bothered him was that threatening sky and those frowning clouds that steadily grew blacker. his eyes and thoughts had been so steadily fixed upon the heavens, that he had scarcely realized the change in the surrounding country. but now he woke up to the fact that his environment was entirely different from that of the morning. then he had been in a rich farming country, the "garden of the lord;" now he was in the barren coal regions of west virginia. beautiful mansions had given place to tiny cabins; prosperous towns to mountain hamlets. the farms were stony and poorly cultivated. great coal breakers stood out against the landscape like gaunt skeletons. the automobiles that had crowded the eastern roads were here conspicuous by their absence. the faces of those he passed on the road were pinched and careworn. he was seeing life on one of its threadbare levels. but his musings on the inequalities of life were rudely interrupted by a drop of rain that splashed on his face. it was coming, then. but perhaps it would only prove a shower. that would not deter him. in fact he would welcome it, as it would serve to lay the dust. but if it developed into a steady downpour, he would have to seek shelter. it would only be foolhardy to plough through the mud with his tires skidding and threatening an ugly fall that might mean a broken leg or arm. faster and faster the drops came down, and faster and faster the "blue streak" scorched along the road, as though to grasp every possible advantage, before the elements had their way. gradually the roads lost their white, dusty appearance and grew yellow in the waning light. bert could feel a perceptible slowing up as the mud began to grip the wheel. still he kept on, holding like a miser to every precious mile that meant so much to him. soon, however, he realized that "the game was up." the rain was coming down now in torrents, and he was wet to the skin. and with the rain came darkness so thick as "almost to be felt." then a flash of lightning rent the sky, and a terrific crash of thunder warned him that the storm was on in earnest. he looked about him for some place of shelter. but there was nothing in sight, not even one of the little cabins, of whose hospitality he would so gladly have availed himself. the lightning came so fast now that the sky was aflame with it, and the thunder was continuous and deafening. he did not dare to seek shelter under the trees, and, in the open, the steel and iron of his motorcycle might easily attract a lightning stroke. as he looked about him in perplexity, a peculiarly blinding flash showed him a little shack at the top of the hill he had been climbing when the storm had broken. it was only a few rods ahead of him, and, with a feeling of immense relief and thankfulness, he made for it. there was no light coming from it, and he did not know whether it was inhabited or abandoned. but, in either case, it was shelter from the fierceness of the storm, and that was enough. leading the wheel from which he had dismounted, he climbed the intervening space and rapped at the door. he waited an instant and then knocked again. still there was no answer and after pausing a moment, he pushed open the door, that had no latch and yielded to his touch, as he stepped inside. at first, coming from the outer air, he could only make out the outlines of the single room, of which the cabin seemed to consist. he called out, but there was no response. then he rummaged in his tool box, and got out a bit of candle that he had provided for an emergency. from a waterproof pouch in his khaki suit, he produced a match and lighted the candle. then, as the flickering light grew into a steady flame, he was able to take stock of his surroundings. as he had surmised on his entrance, there was only a single room. the floor was of dirt, and the shack had been simply slung together in the rudest kind of a way. there was a small table of unplaned boards and a stool, from which one of the three legs was missing. a bunk in the corner and a tattered blanket completed the entire outfit of the temporary shelter in which bert had so unexpectedly found himself. it might have been a cabin formerly dwelt in by one of the "poor whites" of the mountains, or possibly a hunter's shack that served at intervals for a temporary camp. at all events, it was shelter, and, in his present wet and desperate condition, bert was not inclined to "look a gift horse in the mouth." "it isn't exactly the waldorf-astoria," he thought to himself, as he brought his motorcycle in out of the pounding rain, "but it surely looks mighty good to me just now." there was a rude fireplace at one side and some wood and kindling left by the previous occupant, and it was only a few moments before a cheery blaze gave an air of comfort to the small interior. after the fire was well started, bert took his wet garments one by one and dried them before the fire. in a little while he was snug and dry, and inclined to look philosophically on the day that had had such an unlooked for ending. he even chuckled, as he looked at the speedometer and found that it registered over two hundred and fifty miles. he at least was nearly up to his schedule, in spite of the rain, and to-morrow was "a new day." "it might easily have been worse," he thought. "suppose it had rained that way this morning, instead of holding off as long as it did. i've cleared the eastern states, at any rate, and am at last 'down south.'" as a precaution, when he stopped at washington, he had secured a few sandwiches and a can of sardines. these he put out on the rough table, and, as hunger is always "the best sauce," he enjoyed it hugely. there wasn't a crumb left, when at last he leaned back contentedly and stretched his legs before the fire. "like robinson crusoe, i'm master of all i survey," he mused. "not that my kingdom is a very extensive one," as he looked about the little room, that he could have covered with one jump. the rain still kept on with unabated fury, but the harder it poured, the more cozy the shack seemed by contrast. "guess you and i will have to bunk it out together, old chap," he said, addressing his faithful wheel. "well, i might easily find myself in worse company. you're a good old pal, if there ever was one." he took from his kit some oiled rags and together with some old gunny sacking that he found in a corner, started to clean the machine. the mud with which it was caked made this a work of time, as well as a "labor of love," and two hours wore away before he had concluded. but it was a thorough job, and, by the time he was through, the "blue streak" was as bright and shining as when it faced the starter at noon on the day before. while he was at work, bert at times seemed to hear something that sounded like the roar and dash of waves. but he dismissed this as absurd. it was probably the splashing of the water, as it ran down the gullies at the side of the road. he was far above the level of lake or pond, and there was nothing on his map to indicate the presence of any considerable body of water in that locality. once he went to the door, a little uneasily. but in the pitch darkness, all he could see was the lights of a little town, far down the valley. he told himself that he was dreaming, and, after promising himself an early start on the following morning, he stretched himself out on the little bunk in the corner, and in a few minutes had fallen into a deep and refreshing sleep. chapter vi the broken dam how long he slept he did not know, but, while the cabin was still shrouded in darkness, he woke suddenly and sat upright, as though in response to a voice that called. he looked about him, unable at first to realize where he was. then, as he reached out his hand, it came in contact with the motorcycle, which he had stood at the head of the bunk. his sleepy brain cleared, and the events of the day before--the storm--the deserted cabin--came back to him. he struck a match and glanced at his watch. it was a little after four, and, promising himself that he would not go to sleep again, he blew out the light and lay back in his bunk, planning out the ride for the day so near at hand. but try as he would, he could not concentrate his mind on the subject in hand. why had he awakened so suddenly? it was wholly apart from his ordinary habit. usually he slept like a log, and, like a healthy animal, came slowly out of sleep. but this time it had been with a jump. he told himself that it was probably due to his unusual surroundings, and again tried to pin himself down to his schedule. but a vague sense of uneasiness would not vanish at his bidding. he felt as though some monstrous danger was threatening. something direful and evil was in the air. in vain he called himself an "old woman," and laughed, a little uncertainly, at his fears. the subtle threat persisted. he had never had a strong premonition of danger that had not been justified. he was high strung and sensitively organized, and warnings that would leave unstirred a duller mind rang in his consciousness like an alarm bell. he recalled how, at panama, not long ago, he had been impressed by the same feeling of coming peril, when the plot to destroy the canal was rapidly coming to a head. it had been justified then. why should he not trust it now? he hesitated no longer. he hastily threw aside the old tattered blanket, hurried himself into his clothes and went to the door of the cabin. the rain had ceased, although the water was still running in streams in the ditches that lined the road. darkness yet held sway, but, in the east, he could see the gray fingers of the dawn. in the dimness, he looked about him, and, as his eyes became accustomed to the surroundings, he saw, at a little distance, the outlines of a great structure that lay level with the plateau on which the cabin stood. with a few quick strides, he crossed the intervening space until he stood on the brink of a gigantic dam. then he knew what was meant by the splashing and gurgling he had heard the night before. stretched out in front of him was an angry waste of swirling waters. it was yellow and turbid from the clay brought down by the mountain torrents that acted as feeders to the lake. great tree trunks, tossed in the boiling waters, had been jammed against the edge, increasing the pressure, already great. over the brink a cataract was falling, that grew in volume with each passing moment. through crevices in the lower part of the structure, other streams were trickling. to bert, as with whitening face he looked upon the scene, it was evident that the dam was in danger of collapse. there had been very heavy rains in the preceding may, and the lake had been filled to capacity. the storm of the night before had probably developed into a cloudburst farther up in the mountains, and the floods that came down in consequence were putting it to a strain that had not been counted upon when the dam was built. it was none too strong originally--bert could see masses of rubble that had been inserted in the structure in place of solid stone--and now the innocent were in danger of paying a fearful price for the carelessness or criminality of the builders. it had become much lighter now, and, as he looked down at the valley below, he could dimly make out the outlines of the houses in the town. human beings were sleeping there, serene and confident, men, women and children, babes in their mothers' arms. and he alone knew of the terrible monster that at this moment was threatening to leap upon and destroy them. he turned again to the dam. the crevices were wider now. a perfect torrent was pouring over the brink. even while he looked, there was a great bulge in the central part, and a deluge burst through. two of the capstones yielded and fell, with a noise that was drowned by the still greater roar of the unleashed waters. there was no longer any doubt. the dam was giving way! with a sickening fear at his heart, he turned and raced for the cabin. a louder roar behind him added wings to his feet. he burst open the door, dragged out the "blue streak," and in another moment was in the saddle and riding for dear life down the valley. the mud was deep and at a curve of the road, his rear tire skidded and threw him, bruised and bleeding, a dozen feet in advance. but he felt nothing, thought of nothing but the unconscious sleepers who must be warned. stumbling and shaken, he resumed his seat, and tore along the mountain road like the wind. at the scattered farmhouses along the way, lights could be seen in the windows. here and there, he passed farmers already at work in the fields. he blew his horn and yelled at these and pointed behind him. they cast one startled glance up the valley and then rushed to their houses. he did not dare to look behind him, but he could hear a sullen roar that momentarily grew louder. he knew that the monster had broken its bonds and was abroad seeking for prey. he let out the last ounce of power that he possessed as he raced on to the sleeping town. he had ridden fast before, but never as he was riding now. as he neared the town, he pulled wide open the siren that he only used on extraordinary occasions. it wailed out in a wild, weird shriek that spoke of panic, danger, death. there was no mistaking the meaning of that call. now he was in the outskirts, and frightened faces appeared at the windows while half-dressed men ran out of the doors. he waved his hand, and shouted at the top of his lungs: "the dam has broken. run for your lives!" the roar had now swelled into thunder. the flood was coming with fearful velocity. no more need of his siren. that hideous growl of the tumbling waters carried its own warning. the path on which bert had been riding wound along the side of the hill to the east of the town. corresponding slopes lay on the other side. the dwellers on the sides of the hills were comparatively safe. it was unlikely that the water would reach them, or, at any rate, they could climb still higher up and escape, even if their houses were washed away. but there was no hope for the buildings in the valley itself. they were right in the path of the onrushing flood and would be swept away like so many houses of cards. nothing could resist that pitiless torrent now less than a mile away. bert leaped from his wheel and dragged it into a thicket at the side of the path. he cast a swift look up the valley. a great foaming wall of yellow water, forty feet high, bearing on its crest gigantic tree trunks and the debris of houses it had picked up in its path, was bearing down on the town with the swiftness of an avalanche. the houses were emptying now and the streets were full of frantic people, fleeing for their lives. bert heard the hoarse shouts of the men, the screams of the women, the wailing of little children roused suddenly from sleep. from every door they poured forth, making desperate efforts to reach the higher ground. the air resounded with the shrieks of those driven almost mad by sudden terror. into that pandemonium bert plunged with the energy of despair. the time was fearfully short and the tumult of the coming flood was like the thunder of niagara. he met a mother with a babe in her arms and two crying children holding to her skirts. he grabbed the little ones up and with a tousled little head under each arm placed them in safety. a crippled boy, hobbling painfully along on crutches, felt himself suddenly lifted from the ground and hurried to the hillside. he was here, there and everywhere, guiding, pointing, encouraging. and then, just as he was stooping to lift up a woman who had fainted, the flood was upon him! it struck the doomed town with the force of a thunderbolt. frame houses were picked up and carried along like straws. brick structures were smashed into fragments. it was a weltering chaos of horror and destruction. when that mountainous mass of water crashed down upon him, bert for a moment lost consciousness. it was like the impact of a gigantic hammer. there was an interval of blackness, while the water first beat him down and then lifted him up. he had a horrible strangling sensation, and then, after what seemed ages of agony, he found himself on the surface, striking out blindly in that churning mass of water that carried him along as though in a mill race. he had never before realized the tremendous power of water. he was a mere chip tossed hither and thither upon the waves. his head was dizzy from the awful shock of the first impact, there was a ringing in his ears, and the spray dashing into his eyes obscured his sight. almost mechanically, he moved his hands and feet enough to keep his head above the surface. gradually his mind became clearer, and he could do some connected thinking. at any rate, he was alive. that was the main thing. although sore and bruised, he did not think that any of his bones were broken. he was an expert swimmer, and knew that if he kept his senses he would not drown. his most imminent danger lay in being struck by a tree trunk or jammed between the houses that were grinding each other to pieces. if this should happen, his life would be snuffed out like a candle. even at that moment of frightful peril, one thing filled his heart with gladness. he felt sure that almost all the townspeople had escaped. here and there, he could see some one struggling like himself in the yeasty surges, or clinging to some floating object. once the body of a man was carried past within a few feet of him. his last conscious glance before the flood overwhelmed him had shown him a number who had not yet reached the higher ground. these had been caught up with him, and some no doubt had perished. but he thanked god that hundreds, through his warning, had found shelter on the hillsides. their property had been swept away, but they had retained their most precious possession. the loss in animal life was heavy. bert groaned, as he saw the bodies of cows and horses and dogs tossed about in the raging waters. not far off, a horse was swimming and gallantly trying to keep his head above water. his fear-distended eyes fell on bert, and he whinnied, as though asking for help. but just then a great log was driven against him, and with a scream that was almost human he went under. and now bert noted that the force of the flood was abating. it had reached the lowest part of the valley, and, ahead of him, the ground began to rise. with every foot of that ascent the torrent would lose its impetus, until finally it would reach its limit. but there a new danger threatened. there would be a tremendous backwash as the current receded, and in the meeting of the two opposing forces a terrific whirlpool would be generated, in which nothing human could live. in some way he must reach the shore before the flood turned back. there was not an instant to lose, and he acted with characteristic decision. the torrent was slackening, and he no longer felt so helpless in its grasp. he could not swim at right angles to it and thus approach the shore directly, but must try gradually to pull to the left, in a long diagonal sweep. inch by inch, he drew away from the center of the stream and slowly neared the bank. twice he had to dive, to avoid tree trunks that dashed over the spot where he had been a moment before. once he barely escaped being caught between two houses. but his quick eye and quicker mind stood him in good stead, at this hour of his greatest need. his lungs were laboring ready to burst and his muscles were strained almost to the breaking point. but his long powerful strokes brought him steadily nearer to the eastern bank and he steered straight for a huge tree, that stood on the edge of the rushing waters. he missed it by a foot, but was just able to grasp a trailing branch as he was swept beneath it. a desperate clutch, a quick swing upward and the ravening waters had been cheated of a victim. slowly he made his way over the bough to the trunk of the tree, and fell, rather than dropped, to the ground. utterly exhausted, he crumpled into a heap and lay there gasping. he had escaped death by the narrowest of margins. even while he lay there, bereft of strength and worn out with struggle, the flood reached its limit, paused a moment and then rushed back. the receding current met the other still advancing. like giant wrestlers, they locked in a fierce embrace, and the waves shot up for thirty feet. great logs flew out of the waves and fell back with a resounding crash. had bert been in the center of that seething maelstrom, nothing could have saved him from instant death. but he was safe. he had gone into the very jaws of death and come out alive. spent and wrenched and bruised he was, and weary beyond all telling. each arm and leg felt as though it weighed a ton. but he had never incurred pain or danger in a worthier cause, and he rejoiced at the chance that had impelled him to take up his quarters in the deserted hut the night before. the rain had assuredly been a "blessing in disguise," bitterly as he had regretted it at the time. a full hour elapsed before he was able to get on his feet. had it not been for his splendid physical condition, he would have utterly collapsed under the strain. but soon his heart resumed its normal rhythm, the blood coursed more strongly through his veins, and he struggled up from his recumbent posture and began to take note of his surroundings. how far he had been carried in that wild ride, he had no means of knowing. but he judged that he must be fully six miles from the site of the town. there had been several turnings in the valley and from where he stood looking back, he could not see more than a mile before a bend in the road cut off his view. but the stream itself was sufficient guide as he retraced his steps, and he knew that all too soon he would reach the sad and stricken crowd that would be camped on the banks, bewailing the calamity that had come upon them with the swiftness of a lightning stroke. he looked at his watch. it had stopped at ten minutes to five, probably just at the second that the mountain of water swooped down upon him. he threw a glance at the sun which was only a little above the horizon, and concluded that it was not much more than six o'clock. scarcely more than an hour had passed, but it seemed to him as though ages had elapsed since the moment when he had been startled by that first premonition of danger. how lucky that he had heeded it! had he obeyed his first impulse and disregarded it, he would have been compelled to stand by, a helpless spectator, and see a whole community wiped out of existence. and the bitter memory of that neglected opportunity would have cast its shadow over him as long as he lived. his thoughts went now to the gallant machine that had carried him so swiftly to the work of rescue. good old "blue streak!" once more it had proved a tried and trusty comrade, responding to every call he made upon it. how quickly the miles would fall away behind him if he only bestrode it now. the wish had scarcely been formed before a substitute appeared. he heard the sound of wheels, and a team came up behind him. the man who was driving told bert to jump in, and whipped up his horses as he hurried on to the scene of the disaster. soon they came upon the homeless throng, huddled upon the slope that overlooked what had been home. some were weeping and running about, half crazed with anguish. others were dry-eyed and dumb, moving as though in a dream, their minds paralyzed by the shock. they needed everything, food and tents and medicines and doctors and nurses. the telegraph and telephone service was out of commission and the offices had been swept away. the outside world knew nothing, as yet, of the frightful visitation that had come to the little town, nestling in the west virginia hills. bert's resolution was taken on the instant. there was nothing more that he could do here. little, in fact, could be done until the flood subsided, and there were plenty of hands only too willing to dull their heartache in work that would keep them from brooding too much on the disaster. but no horse could get to the world without as quickly as he on his motorcycle. he waited only long enough to learn the shortest route to the next town of any size. then he rushed to the thicket on the hillside where he had left his wheel, and was rejoiced to find it safe. fortunately, it had been beyond the high water mark of the flood. he dragged it out, mounted, and, with one last look at the waters that had so nearly been his grave, threw in the clutch and started up the valley. the sun was much higher now and the roads, while still muddy, were rapidly drying out. he cleared the summit of the hills and could see far off the buildings and spires of the town he sought. like a meteor, he shot down the slope, and in a few minutes was the center of an excited group in the telegraph office, to which he at once repaired. soon the wires were humming, and within a short time the entire country, from maine to california, was stirred to the depths by the news of the calamity. doctors and supplies were rushed from the points nearest to the stricken town and from washington the federal government sent a squad of red cross nurses and a detachment of troops to take charge of the work of rescue and reconstruction. only one thing was omitted from bert's graphic recital of the story. he said not a word of his wild ride in the early dawn. others, later on, when they had regained something of composure and could recall events preceding the catastrophe, remembered a rider rushing along the country roads and calling upon them to flee for their lives. they told of the siren, shrieking like a soul in pain, that had roused them from their sleep with its dreadful warning. the reporters, avid of sensation, listened eagerly, and embroidered upon the story some fanciful embellishments of their own. they did their utmost to discover the name of the rider who had come racing through the mists of that early morning, but failed. the only one who could tell the truth about it never did. except to a few of his intimates, and that under the pledge of secrecy, bert locked the story in his own breast and threw away the key. it was enough for him that he had been able at a critical juncture to do, and do successfully, the work that stood ready to his hand. the deed carried its own compensation, and he rejoiced that he was able to keep it from public view. but, somewhere in west virginia, a crippled boy remembered him gratefully, and two little youngsters were taught to mention a nameless stranger in their prayers. and now that nothing was left to do in behalf of others, bert's thoughts reverted to his own affairs. the day was still young, despite the events that had been crowded into it. up to this moment he had not thought of food, but now he was conscious that he was ravenously hungry. as soon as he could shake himself loose from the crowd that had listened breathlessly to his story, he went to the hotel and ordered an abundant breakfast. when he had finished, he was once more his normal self. he replenished his gasoline supply, consulted his map, jumped into the saddle and was off. before long he reached the road that he had been traveling the previous day; and, bending low over the handlebars, he called upon the "blue streak" to make up for lost time. the scenery flew past as in a panorama. up hill and down he went at railroad speed, only slackened within the limits of a town. in this thinly settled country, these were few and far between, and he chuckled as he saw his speedometer swiftly climbing. the roads were drying out, and, though still a little heavy, had lost their clinging quality. in a few hours, he flashed into charleston, where his ears were greeted by the cries of the newsboys, calling out the extras issued on account of the flood. staying only long enough to report his time and get a meal, he resumed his trip, and, before night, had left the worst part of the hills behind him and had crossed the border line into kentucky, the land of swift horses and fair women, of davy crockett and daniel boone, the "dark and bloody ground" of the revolution. it was a tired rider who almost fell from his saddle that night, after having covered three hundred miles. a fierce determination had buoyed him up and the most daring kind of rough riding had carried him through. now the reaction had set in. an immense weariness weighed him down and every separate muscle had its own distinctive ache. but his mind was at peace. he had fought a good fight. a supreme emergency had challenged him, and he had met it squarely. and no twinges of conscience for duty unperformed came to disturb the sleep of utter exhaustion into which he fell as soon as his head touched the pillow. chapter vii a kentucky feud the following morning he arose early, his abounding vitality having enabled him to recuperate entirely from the exciting events of the day before. he was soon in the saddle, bowling along at a good clip through the "blue grass" state. he found widely varied road conditions confronting him. at times he would strike short stretches of "pike" that afforded fairly good going. as a rule, however, the roads were sandy, and consequently, very bad for motorcycle travel. at times, the sand was so deep that he felt lucky if he averaged fifteen or twenty miles an hour. often the only way he could get along at all was to ride in one of the ruts worn by the wheels of carriages and buggies. these were usually very deep, so deep, in fact, that with both wheels in them the footboards barely cleared the surface of the road. of course, this made riding very dangerous, as the slightest turn of the front wheel meant a bad fall. it was only by skilful balancing that bert managed to make any progress at all. as every one knows, a bicycle or motorcycle is kept erect by moving the front wheel to one side or the other, thus maintaining the proper center of gravity. riding in a rut, however, this method became impracticable, so bert was forced to keep his equilibrium by swaying his body from side to side, as necessity dictated. he found that the faster he traveled through these ruts the easier it was to keep his balance. of course, if he had a tumble going at that speed he was much more apt to be badly hurt, but he had no time to think of that. if he didn't go fast, he couldn't win the race, and to him that was reason enough to "hit it up" regardless of possible consequences. sometimes he met a carriage, and then there was nothing for it but to dismount and wait for it to pass, that is, if he thought the driver had not seen him. but if he was on a long stretch of road and the driver had ample time to get out of the way,--well, there was no stopping then. the driver, seeing a blue streak approaching him at close to a mile a minute clip would hastily draw to one side of the road and then descend and hold his horse's head; and usually none too soon. there would come a rattle and roar, and bert would be a speck in the distance, leaving a cloud of dust to settle slowly behind him. the driver, after quieting his horse--all the horses in this part of the country were unused to motor vehicles of any kind--would resume his journey, muttering curses on them "pesky gasoline critters." but taken altogether, bert found his first day in kentucky one of the most strenuous he had ever experienced. night found him in a rather unlooked for situation. he was a little ahead of his schedule, and he had reached the town at which he had planned to stay several hours short of sundown. "no use losing three or four precious hours of daylight," he thought. "i might as well push forward and take a chance of getting shelter at some village along the way." this he did, following directions given him in the town in which he had originally intended to stay. as usual, however, the directions proved to be wrong, and the village failed to materialize. to add to his troubles as darkness came on, he took a wrong fork in the road, and before long found himself in a road that was absolutely impassable on account of sand. "well," thought he, "it begins to look like a night in the open for me, and that won't be much fun. i want to get a good night's sleep to-night. heaven knows i need it." but when he had just about resigned himself to this, he was relieved to see a light spring up, some distance away. "that's good," he thought, "i'll see if all i've heard about kentucky hospitality is fact or just mere talk." accordingly he started the motor and threw in the clutch on low speed. he made no attempt to mount, however, but contented himself with walking beside the machine, guiding it through the deep sand. he had no need to announce his arrival. the unmuffled exhaust did that for him. as he approached the cabin from which the light emanated, he could see the whole family grouped on the doorstep, peering into the night, for by now it was quite dark. the head of the house was a little in advance of the others, and as bert and the "blue streak" approached the door he stepped forward. "wall, stranger, what kind of a contraption do you-all reckon to have thar?" he drawled, gazing curiously at the palpitating motorcycle. bert shut off the motor before he replied. "why," he said, "that's my motorcycle, and it's one of the best friends i have. i took the wrong road a way back, i guess, and i was just going to camp out over night, when i saw the light from your window. if you can put me up for the night you'll be doing me a big favor." "not another word, son," replied the big mountaineer, "come right in an' set down. you look nigh dead beat." "i am about all in," confessed bert. "i'll leave my machine right here, i guess." "shore, shore," said the big kentuckian, "i reckin thar ain't nobuddy within a hundred miles hereabouts that could make off with the blamed machine ef he had a mind to. hosses is considerable more common in these parts. the pump's around the side of the house ef you 'low to wash up," he continued, as an afterthought. "all right, thanks," replied bert, "i'll be with you in no time." he disappeared in the direction indicated, and soon returned, much refreshed by a thorough sousing under the pump. as he entered the cabin, a tired-looking but motherly woman bustled forward. "jest you set over there to the right of paw," she said, indicating bert's place at the table, "an' make yourself comfortable. we ain't got much to offer you, but sech as it is, you'r welcome." there was not much variety to the viands, it must be confessed, but there was plenty of "corn pone" and bacon, and rich milk with which to wash it down. after his strenuous day in the open he ate ravenously. the mountaineer uttered hardly a word during the meal, and indeed none of the family seemed very talkative. the children, of whom there were six, gazed round-eyed at the unexpected guest, and seemed, if one were to judge from their looks, to regard him as a being from another world. after the meal was dispatched, the mountaineer produced a blackened old pipe, and, filling it from a shabby leather pouch, lit it. "do you smoke, son?" he asked, holding the pouch out to bert, "ef you do, help yourself." "no, thanks," said bert, declining the hospitable offer with a smile. "don't smoke, eh?" commented the other. "wall, ye'd ought to. there's a heap of comfort in baccy, let me tell you." "i don't doubt it," replied bert, "but i've been in training so long for one thing or another that i've never had a chance to form the habit. everybody that smokes seems to get a lot of fun out of it though, so i suppose it must be a great pleasure." "it shore is," affirmed the big kentuckian. "but it's hot in here. what do you say we light out and take a squint at that machine of yourn? i ain't never got a good look at one close up. they're ginerally travelin' too fast to make out details," with a grin. "well, they're not the slowest things in the world, that's certain," laughed bert, "but come ahead out and i'll be glad to explain it to you." they went outside together, the kentuckian carrying a lantern, and followed by the children, who gazed wide-eyed at the strange machine. bert explained the simpler points of the mechanism to the mountaineer, who seemed much interested. "i kin see it's a mighty neat contraption," he admitted, at length. "but i'd rether ride quietlike behind a good bit o' hoss flesh. you can't make me believe that thet machine has got the strength o' seven hosses in it, nohow. it ain't reasonable." bert saw that he might argue for a week, and still fail to shake the obstinacy of his host, so he wisely forbore to make the attempt. instead he guided the conversation around to the conditions and pursuits of the surrounding country, and here the kentuckian was on firm ground. he discoursed on local politics with considerable shrewdness and good sense, and proved himself well up on such topics. they talked on this subject quite a while, and then the conversation in some way shifted to the feuds a few years back that had aroused such widespread criticism. "although i haven't seen any sign of them since i've been in kentucky," confessed bert, with a smile. "no," said his host, with a ruminative look in his eyes, "they're dyin' out, an' a good thing it is fer the country, too. they never did do the least mite o' good, an' they often did a sight o' harm. "why, it warn't such a long time back that the judsons an' the berkeleys were at it hammer an' tongs, right in this country roundabout. one was layin' fer 'tother all the time, an' the folks thet wasn't in the fracas was afraid to go huntin' even, fer fear o' bein' picked off by mistake. they wasn't none too particular about makin' sure o' their man, neither, before they pulled trigger. they'd shoot fust, an' ef they found they'd bagged the wrong man they might be peeved, but thet's all. more'n once i've had a close shave myself." "but what started the feud in the first place?" asked bert. "it must have been a pretty big thing to have set people to shooting each other up like that, i should think." "not so's you could notice it," was the answer. "blamed ef i rightly remember just what it was. seems to me, now i come to think of it, that ole seth judson an' adam berkeley got mixed up in the fust place over cuttin' down a tree thet was smack on the line 'atween their farms. ole seth he swore he'd cut thet tree down, an' adam he 'lowed as how it would be a mighty unhealthy thing fer any man as how even took a chip out of it. "wall, a couple o' days later adam went to town on one errand or another, and when he got back the cussed ole tree had been cut down an' carted away. when adam saw nothin' but the stump left, he never said a word, good or bad, but turned around and went back to his house an' got his gun. he tracks over to seth judson's house an' calls him by name. seth, he walks out large as life, an' adam pumps a bullet clean through his heart. them two men had been friends off an' on fer over thirty year, an' i allow thet ef adam hed took time to think an' cool off a little, he'd never a' done what he did. "howsomever, there's no bringin' the dead back to life, an' adam tromps off home, leavin' seth lyin' there on his front porch. "'twasn't more'n a week later, i reckon, when we all heard thet seth's son, jed, had up an' killed adam, shootin' at him from behind a fence. "waal, thet's the way it started, an' it seemed as though it war never goin' to end. young adam, he 'lowed as how no man could shoot his daddy an' live, so he laid fer jed as he was goin' to the village, an' shot him 'atween the eyes as neat as could be. then the younger sons, thet were still not much more than boys, as you might say, they took to lyin' in wait fer each other in the woods an' behind fences. pretty soon their relatives took to backin' them up, and jined in on their own account. o' course, most o' the folks hereabouts is related to one another in some way. "i wasn't a native o' these parts myself, an' so managed to keep clear o' the trouble. it was a hard thing for me to set by an' see my neighbors killin' each other off like a passel o' mad dogs, though, an' all the more because i knew there wasn't any real call fer it in the first place. "howsumever, they've stopped fightin' now, an' it's none too soon, nuther. another year, an' i reckon there wouldn't a been a berkeley or a judson left alive in the hull state." the farmer stopped speaking, and gazed reflectively into the night. "but what put an end to it finally," inquired bert, who had listened to this narrative with absorbed interest. "waal, there was considerable romance consarned in it, as you might say," said his host. "young buck judson, he met one o' ole berkeley's daughters somewhere, an' those two young fools hed to go an' fall in love with each other. o' course, their families were dead sot agin' it, but nothin' would do the critters short o' gettin' hitched up, an' at last they talked their families into a peace meetin', as you might say. all the neighbors was invited, an' o' course we-all went. an', believe me, those people reminded me of a room full o' tom cats, all wantin' to start a shindy, but all hatin' to be the fust to begin. "but all we-'uns thet wanted to stop such goin's on did our best to keep peace in the family. to make a long story short, everythin' went off quiet an' easy like, an' buck an' his gal was hitched up all proper. the hard feelin' gradually calmed down, an' now the two families is tolerable good friends, considerin' everything. but that cost a heap of more or less valable lives while it lasted, i can tell you." after a short pause, he continued, "but there was some turrible strong feelin's on both sides while it lasted, son. why, people was afraid to get 'atween a light an' a winder, for fear of a bullet comin' through and puttin' a sudden an' onpleasant end to them. ole sam judson, as how always had a streak o' yaller in him at the best o' times, got so at last thet he wouldn't stir out o' the house without he toted his little gran'darter, mary, along with him. o' course, he figured thet with the baby in his arms nobuddy'd take a chanst on wingin' him and mebbe killin' the kid, an' he was right. he never even got scratched the hull time. an' i could tell you a hundred other things o' the same kind, only you'd probably get tired listenin' to them." "it certainly was a bad state of things," said bert at last, after a thoughtful silence, "but couldn't the authorities do something to stop such wholesale killing?" "not much," replied the mountaineer, "it would 'a taken every constable in kentucky to cover this part o' the country, an' even then i reckon there wouldn't 'a been anywhere near enough. they must 'a realized that," he added drily, "'cause they didn't try very hard, leastways, not as fur as i could see." "i'm glad it's over now, at any rate," commented bert. "a needless waste of life like that is a terrible thing." "it shore is," agreed his host, and puffed meditatively at his pipe. at last he knocked the ashes from it and rose to his feet. "it's gettin' late, son," he said, "an' i reckon you-all must be might tuckered out after a day on that there fire spoutin' motorbike o' yourn. the ole lady's got a bunk fixed up fer you, i reckon, an' you can turn in any time you feel like it." "i am tired out, for a fact," acknowledged bert, "and i don't care how soon i tumble in." "come along, then," said anderson, as his host was named, "come on inside, an' we'll put you up." so saying, he entered the cabin, followed by bert. mrs. anderson had fixed a bed for him in a little loft over the main room, reached by a ladder. after bidding his host and hostess good night, bert climbed the rungs and ten minutes later was sleeping soundly. when he was awakened by a call from the farmer, he jumped up much refreshed, and, dressing quickly, descended the ladder to the living room, where the entire family was already assembled. after exchanging greetings, he took his place at the table and made a substantial meal from plain but hearty fare. this over, he bade a cordial farewell to the kind farmer and his wife, who refused pointblank to accept the slightest payment for the hospitality they had extended him. bert thanked them again and again, and then shook hands and left them, first being told of a short cut that would save him several miles and land him on a good road. the good old "blue streak" was in fine shape, and after a few minor adjustments he started the motor. the whole family had followed him out, and were grouped in an interested semicircle about him. at last he was ready to start, and threw one leg over the saddle. "good-bye," he called, waving his hand, "and thanks once more." "good-bye, good luck," they cried in chorus, and bert moved off slowly, on low gear. at first the going was atrocious, and he was forced to pick his way with great caution. the road steadily improved, however, and in a short time a sudden turn brought him out on an exceptionally good turnpike, the one of which his host of the night before had told him. "all right," he thought to himself, "here goes to make speed while the road lasts," and he grinned at this paraphrase of a well-worn saying. he opened up more and more, and his motor took up its familiar deep-toned road song. mile after mile raced back from the spinning wheels. the indicator on the speedometer reached the fifty mark, and stayed there hour after hour. at times the road ran more to sand, but then he simply opened the throttle a trifle wider, and kept to the same speed. the air was like wine, and riding was a keen pleasure. the trees and bushes waving in the early morning breeze--the beautiful green country spread out on every side--the steady, exhilarating speed--all made life seem a very fine thing indeed, and bert sang snatches of wild, meaningless songs as he flew along. for three hours he never slackened speed, and then only pulled up in a fair-sized town to replenish his oil and gasoline. then he was off again. the road became worse after he had gone ten or fifteen miles, but still he contrived to make fair time, and about noon he rode into louisville. his arrival there was eagerly awaited, and he was warmly received at the local agency. while his machine was being cleaned and oiled, he took the opportunity of reporting to the proper authorities. upon his return the "blue streak" was turned over to him, shining and polished, and he once more took the road. several motorcyclists accompanied him to the outskirts of the city. he experienced varying road conditions, and was twice delayed by punctures. but the rattling work of the early morning made up for the afternoon's delays, and dusk found him two hundred and eighty miles nearer the goal of his ambition. chapter viii the forged telegram bert's stay in louisville was brief, and all the more so, because neither tom nor dick was there to meet him, as they had planned. bert took it for granted that something out of the ordinary had happened, however, and bore his disappointment as philosophically as he could. "no doubt they've been delayed," he thought, "and will meet me in the next town. that will be a spur to me to go faster so that i can see them sooner." he had a refreshing sleep, and was up early, resolved to make a profitable day of it. after he had eaten breakfast, he paid his bill, and was just going out the door when the clerk stopped him. "just a minute, sir," he said. "here's a telegram for you. i almost forgot to give it to you." "when did it come?" asked bert, as he took the yellow envelope and prepared to open it. "oh, just about an hour ago," replied the clerk, "no bad news i hope?" this question was occasioned no doubt by the expression of bert's face. "come quick," the telegram read, "tom very sick; may die. we are in maysville. dick." bert's voice shook as he addressed the hotel clerk. "one of my friends is very sick," he said. "he's in maysville. how long will it take me to get there?" "well, it's a matter of close on two hundred miles," replied the clerk, in a sympathetic voice, "but the roads are fair, and you can make pretty fast time with that machine of yours." bert whipped out his map of kentucky, and the clerk pointed out to him the little dot marked maysville. "all right, thanks," said bert, briefly, "good-bye." "good-bye," said the other, "i hope your friend isn't as bad as you fear." but before he finished speaking bert was on the "blue streak," and was flying down the street. in a moment his mind had grasped every angle of the catastrophe. if he went to tom, it would very likely mean the loss of the race, for a matter of four hundred miles out of his road would be a fearful handicap. but what was the race compared to dear old tom, tom, who at this very moment might be calling for him? every other consideration wiped from his mind, bert leaned over and fairly flew along the dusty road. fences, trees, houses, streaked past him, and still he rode faster and faster, recklessly, taking chances that he would have shunned had he been bound on any other errand. he shot around sharp bends in the road at breakneck speed, sometimes escaping running into the ditch by a margin of an inch or so. fast as the "blue streak" was, it was all too slow to keep pace with his feverish impatience, and bert fumed at the long miles that lay between him and his friend. now a steep hill loomed up in front of him, and he rushed it at breakneck speed. slowly the motorcycle lost speed under the awful drag of the steep ascent, and at last bert was forced to change to low gear. the "blue streak" toiled upward, and at last reached the top. a wonderful view lay spread out before him, but bert had no eye just now for the beauties of nature. all he saw was a road that dipped and curved below him until it was lost in the green shades of a valley. bert saw he would have no need of his motor in making that descent, so threw out the clutch and coasted. faster and faster he flew, gaining speed with every revolution of the wheels. with the engine stopped, the motorcycle swept along in absolute silence, save for the slight hissing noise made by the contact of the tires with the road. the speed augmented until he was traveling almost with the speed of a cannon ball. at this speed, brakes were useless, even had he been inclined to use them, which he was not. two-thirds of the way down he flashed past a wagon, that was negotiating the descent with one wheel chained, so steep was it. had the slightest thing gone wrong then; had a nut worked loose, a tire punctured, a chain broken or jumped the sprockets, bert would have been hurled through the air like a stone from a catapult. fortunately for him, everything held, and now he was nearing the bottom of the hill. ten seconds later, and he was sweeping up the opposite slope at a speed that it seemed could never slacken. but gradually gravitation slowed him down to a safer pace, and at last he slipped in the clutch and started the motor. in the wild descent his cap had flown off, but he hardly noticed it. "i'll soon be there at this rate," he thought, glancing at the speedometer. "i've come over a hundred and fifty miles now, so maysville can't be much further." and, indeed, less than an hour's additional riding brought him to the town of that name. he went immediately to the hotel at which his friends were supposed to be. but when he stated his object to the hotel clerk, the latter gazed at him blankly. "there are no parties of that name stopping here," he said. "i guess you have the wrong address, young man." bert showed him the telegram, but the clerk only shook his head. "there's something wrong somewhere," he said; "suppose you see bently, the telegrapher. he could probably give you a description of the person that sent the telegram, anyway." "thanks, i will," said bert, and hastened out. a dim idea of the true state of affairs was beginning to form in his brain, but it hardly seemed possible his suspicions could be true. he soon reached the telegraph office, and accosted the operator. "can you tell me," he asked, "who sent that telegram early this morning?" the station agent glanced at the telegram, and replied: "why, i can't give you a very good description of the man, for i didn't take special notice of him. he was a young man of medium build, though, with light hair, and now i come to think of it, he wore goggles. seems to me i heard some one say he was riding a motorcycle in some cross country race, but that i can't vouch for." "i think i know who he was, all right," said bert, "and i'm much obliged to you." "don't mention it," returned the other, and turned again to his work. bert walked out of the station with clenched fists and blazing eyes. "it's hayward who sent that telegram," he muttered, between clenched teeth. "i'd stake my soul on it. but i'll win this race in spite of that crook and his tricks. and anyway," he thought, with his eyes softening, "old tom _isn't_ sick after all, and that's almost enough to make me forgive hayward. i feel as though i had just awakened from an awful nightmare." it was characteristic of bert that his anger and chagrin at being tricked in this dastardly way were swallowed up in his relief at finding the report of his friend's illness false. bert consulted his map, and found that by taking a different route than that by which he had come he could save quite some distance, and started out again, after filling the "blue streak's" tanks with oil and gasoline, with the grim resolve to have revenge for the despicable trick that had been played on him, by snatching from hayward the prize that he was willing to stoop to such depths to gain. up hill and down he flew, around curves, over bridges that shook and rattled at the impact of racing man and machine. steadily the mileage indicator slipped around, as league after league rolled backward, and bert exulted as he watched it. "we'll make it ahead of everybody else or die in the attempt, won't we, old fellow?" he said, apostrophizing the "blue streak." "nobody's going to play a trick like that on us and get away with it, are they?" only once on the return trip did he stop, and then only long enough to snatch a little food. then he was off again like the wind, and as dusk began to fall rode into louisville. as he entered the hotel, after leaving his machine in a garage, dick and tom swooped down upon him. "what's up?" they demanded, both in the same breath, "who sent that telegram, do you know?" "i think i know," replied bert. "i haven't a doubt in the world that it was sent by hayward. you remember that we heard he was more or less crooked, and now we know it." "i wish i could lay my hands on him," exclaimed dick, with flashing eyes. "i'd make him regret the day he was born. just you wait till the next time i come across him, that's all." "if i see him first there won't be anything left for you," said tom. "of all the dirty, underhanded tricks i ever heard of, that is the limit." "well, i won't contradict you," said bert, grimly, "but all he'll ever gain out of it will be a sound thrashing. don't you believe for a minute that it's going to help him win this race. i'll ride day and night until i've made up for this lost time." and ride he did, crowding three days' mileage into two, until at last he felt that he had recovered the time lost in answering the call of the forged telegram. chapter ix in deadly peril it was after he reached the western deserts that bert experienced the hardest going. the roads, if mere trails could be dignified by that name, were unspeakably bad, and time and again he was forced to ride on the railroad embankment, between the tracks. of course, progress in this manner was necessarily slow, and again and again bert had occasion to feel grateful for the wonderful springing system of his mount. without some such aid, he felt his task would be well nigh hopeless. as it was, he had to let a little air out of the tires, to reduce the shocks caused by contact with the rough ballast and uneven ties. in some places, where the roadbed was exceptionally well ballasted he was able to open up a little, but such stretches were few and far between. in places he was forced to dismount because of drainage culverts running under the tracks. when this happened he would lift the "blue streak" up on a rail and trundle it over. it was back-breaking work, and tested even his courage and endurance to the utmost. his oil and gasoline supply ran low, but by great good fortune he was able to secure almost a gallon of gasoline from an agent at a lonely little station, and about a quart of very inferior lubricating oil. but he comforted himself with the thought that "half a loaf is better than none" and went on. after a while he noticed that a passable looking road skirted the railroad to the left, and he resolved to try it. accordingly, he scrambled down the steep embankment, the "blue streak" half rolling and half sliding down with him. he arrived safely at the bottom, and a minute later was on the road. it proved to be fairly good at first, but became more and more sandy, and at last bert was brought to a standstill. "i guess i'm through for to-day," he reflected, and gazed anxiously in every direction for any sign of human habitation. his searching gaze met nothing but empty sky and empty desert, however, and he drew a sigh of resignation. "i guess there's nothing for it but to camp out here and make the best of things," he thought, and set about unstrapping his impedimenta from the luggage carrier. his preparations for the night were soon made. he smoothed out a patch of sand and spread his thick army blanket over it. "now that that's done," he thought, "i'll just have a bite to eat, and turn in. this isn't half bad, after all. it's a lot better than some of the hotels i've put up at on this trip, and the ventilation is perfect." he always carried a substantial lunch with him, to guard against emergencies, and of this he now partook heartily. when he had finished, he busied himself in cleaning and thoroughly inspecting his faithful mount, and found it in fine condition, even after such a strenuous day. "no need to worry about your not delivering the goods, is there, old boy?" he said, affectionately. "as long as you stick to the job, we'll pull through all right." by the time he had completed his inspection and made some adjustments it was almost dark, and bert rolled himself in his blanket and was soon sleeping soundly. meantime tom and dick were awaiting him at boyd, a small town in northern texas. when he failed to arrive, they decided that some unforeseen event had delayed him, and were not much worried. nevertheless, they were not quite easy about him, and tom made a proposition that met with instant approbation from dick. "why wouldn't it be a good idea," tom proposed, "to hire an automobile early to-morrow morning and meet him outside the town on his way in? it will break up the trip a little for him, and then, in case he's had a breakdown we can help him out." "fine!" agreed dick, enthusiastically, "let's go out right now and make arrangements with the garage keeper so we'll be sure to get the machine in the morning. we might as well be on the safe side." they immediately sallied out to put this plan in execution. they experienced no difficulty in making the necessary arrangements. they paid the proprietor of the garage a deposit, and so secured the use of a fast, two-seated runabout for the following morning. before they left dick asked the proprietor at what time the place was open. "oh, it's always open," he replied, "come and get the car any time you want it. it's all the same to me, so long as it's paid for." "all right, we'll take you at your word," they promised, and returned to the hotel. "we'll get a good early start," planned tom, "we ought to leave the garage before six o'clock if we expect to meet bert in time." "we'll do just that," agreed dick, "and maybe i won't be glad to set eyes on the old reprobate again." "i, too," said tom, "he'll be a sight for sore eyes." "that's what," agreed dick, "but if we're going to get started at that unearthly hour, we'd better turn in early to-night." this proposition being self-evident, it met with no opposition, and shortly afterward they retired, leaving an early call at the office. they were awakened punctually the next morning, and tumbled hastily into their clothes. they did not even stop for breakfast, arguing "that there would be plenty of time for that later on." in a very short time they presented themselves at the garage, and the party in charge, following instructions left with him by the owner of the place, turned the automobile over to them. dick took the wheel, and they were soon spinning rapidly through the quiet streets of the town. once outside the limits, dick "cracked on speed," and they went along at a fast clip. they passed right by the place where bert had encamped at a distance of several miles, and before long came to a village, where they inquired if bert had been through. no, the villagers said, he had not been through there, but they had heard that a motorcyclist had been seen riding on the railroad embankment, and there could be little doubt that the rider was bert. "you must have passed him somewhere," concluded one of their informants, an old native whose tanned and weather-beaten face was seamed by a thousand wrinkles. "p'raps he stuck to the railroad tracks clean through, an' is in boyd by this time." but dick shook his head. "if he'd followed the tracks right along he'd probably have reached town last night," he said, with an anxious look in his eyes. "i'm afraid he's left the track for one reason or another, and lost his way." "is there any road near the track that he might have used?" queried tom. "no, there ain't," replied the veteran, "leastways, nothin' except the old holloway trail, and you can't rightly call that a road. it's most wiped out now, an' jest leads plumb to nowhere." "just the same," exclaimed dick, excitedly, "that's just what has happened." he explained hurriedly the race and its object, and ended by entreating the old plainsman to guide them to the road he had spoken of. "waal, all right," exclaimed the old man, after a moment of hesitation, "i'll go ye. but whareabouts in that gasoline buggy o' yourn am i goin' to sit? thar don't seem to be much room to spare." "you sit here," exclaimed tom, jumping out. "i'll sit on the floor and hold on somehow. let her go, dick." before the plainsman had fairly settled himself in the seat dick had let in the clutch, and the car started away with a jerk, dick steering according to directions given him by the old man as they went along. they plowed through the sand at a breakneck pace, tom hanging on for dear life. soon they came in sight of the railroad embankment, and dick slowed down slightly. their guide waved his arm to the right, and dick wrenched the wheel around, causing the machine to skid wildly in the yielding sand. their guide hung on desperately, but was heard to mutter something about "stickin' to hosses after this." soon they reached the road that bert had traversed the night before, and there, sure enough, were the marks of motorcycle tires. their guide gave a whoop. "we're close on his trail now," he yelled, "give this tarnation machine a touch o' the spurs, young feller." dick followed out the spirit of this admonition, at any rate, and after ten minutes of furious driving they caught sight of the "blue streak." a little further, and they could make out bert's recumbent form, apparently asleep. "well," exclaimed tom, heaving a sigh of relief as dick reduced speed, "we've had all our worry for nothing, i guess." but the old plainsman was peering out from under his horny palm. "it's almighty queer," he muttered under his breath. "that young chap must be an all-fired heavy sleeper to sleep in broad daylight like that. let's get out an' walk the rest o' the way," he continued, aloud. dick looked at him curiously, but did as he proposed, and brought the car to a standstill. they all got out, and tom and dick were going to make a dash for the sleeper, but their guide held them back. "easy boys, easy," he cautioned. "there's somethin' wrong here, an' i've an idee i know what it is, too." "that's whatever!" he exclaimed, when they had advanced cautiously a few steps further. "they's a bunch o' scorpions has crawled up on him durin' the night to keep warm, an' if he moves an eyelash they'll sting him, sure. an' ef they do----" he stopped significantly, and the two friends of the threatened man paled as they realized the full horror of the situation. here was their friend menaced by a hideous death, and they found themselves powerless to help him. they were within a hundred feet of him, but to all intents and purposes they might as well have been a hundred miles distant. the first attempt on their part to help him would only precipitate the very tragedy that they sought to avoid. bert lay in the shadow cast by the "blue streak," over which he had thrown a blanket to protect it from wind-blown sand. the hideous creatures would not leave him until the sun drove them into hiding, and bert might wake at any moment. what to do they knew not. they racked their brains desperately for some plan of action, but could think of none. it was the old frontiersman who came to their rescue. "ef i only had a bit o' lookin' glass," he muttered, looking aimlessly about him, "i might do somethin'. but they probably ain't no sech thing nearer than ten miles." "if that would do any good i can get you one," exclaimed tom, seized with an inspiration. he raced back to the auto, and, seizing a wrench, attacked the mirror attached to the dash for the purpose of reflecting objects coming in back of the car. he had it off in less time than it takes to tell, and ran back, waving it over his head. "here you are!" he exclaimed, thrusting it into the hands of the guide. "but i don't see what good that will do." "never you mind, son," said the old man, snatching the mirror from him. "jest you watch my smoke." he took up a position on the other side of bert, and manipulated the mirror so that a bright beam of sunlight fell on the recumbent form. its effect was soon apparent. the poisonous insects stirred uneasily, trying to avoid the glare that they hated. finding that there was no escaping it, they at last commenced to crawl down in search of a more shady resting place. one by one they made off, the flashing ray of light hastening the departure of the laggards. watching breathlessly, dick and tom waited for the last noxious insect to crawl sluggishly down onto the blanket and then off into the sand. even after the last one had been dislodged, the prairieman played the reflected sunlight over bert until there was no longer cause for apprehension. "all right, young fellers," he said at last. "i cal'late you can wake your friend up now without takin' any long chances." dick and tom were about to avail themselves of this permission, but found that there was no need. as they started forward the "sleeper" sat up, and then scrambled to his feet. his comrades uttered a simultaneous expression of surprise, and dick exclaimed, "of all the lucky old reprobates that ever lived, bert, you're certainly the luckiest, without exception. if you had waked up ten minutes sooner, you would----" "waked up your grandmother," interrupted bert. "why, i've been awake over an hour. i was awake when you got here, but i was afraid to move for fear of having one of those things bite me--ugh!" and a great shudder of disgust passed over him, "that was a waking nightmare in earnest. i feel as weak as a rag. look at that!" and he held out his hand. it was trembling like a leaf. "waal, i'll be jiggered," exclaimed the westerner, in an admiring voice, "you've sure got nerve, young feller, and no mistake. it ain't everybody as could hold hisself the way you did with them blamed critters crawlin' all over him. it took nerve, it shore did." "probably you'd have done the same thing if you'd been in my place," observed bert, with a friendly smile. "waal, mebbe i would an' mebbe i wouldn't," replied the old man, evidently much gratified by this little compliment, "although i don't say as how i haven't had one or two close shaves in my time, mind ye." "well, at any rate, i guess i owe my life to you, and, of course, to my pals here," said bert, "and all i can say is, that i'm more than grateful." "that's all right, young feller," replied the plainsman, with a deprecatory wave of his hand, "you can thank me best by not sayin' a word about it. you'd have done the same fer me ef you'd had the chance." bert said no more, but shook hands all around, and then prepared to start on. "you fellows lead the way," he said, "and i'll follow. my appetite is beginning to come back with a rush." "ye'd better follow the road we come by back a piece," advised their guide, "ye'll soon come to the main road leadin' into boyd, and you oughtn't to have any further trouble." "that listens all right," observed bert, and dick and tom were of the same mind. accordingly, they lost no time in packing up bert's luggage, and soon had it stored neatly on the carrier. then dick pointed the nose of the automobile in the direction their guide had advised, bert following at a little distance to give the dust raised by the passage of the automobile time to settle. in a short time they reached the road of which the guide had spoken, and they spun along merrily. they made a slight detour to set down the old frontiersman, who had rendered them such invaluable assistance. they parted from him with great regret and many expressions of gratitude. he stood in the sandy road waving his hat after them until his figure became indistinct in the distance. "there was a friend in need, if there ever was one," said tom, and dick was of the same opinion. after awhile the road broadened out somewhat, and bert ranged up alongside the automobile. he closed the muffler of his machine, and as it glided along with scarcely a sound he and his friends conversed without the slightest difficulty. in this way the distance seemed nothing at all, and in due time they drew into boyd. bert left the "blue streak" at the garage, and went with tom and dick to their hotel. they were all ravenously hungry, and the ravages they caused among the eatables filled the waiters with astonishment. at last they had finished, and then proceeded to discuss their future movements. "i've managed to keep pretty well to schedule so far," he told them, "and some of the worst going is over. but, believe me, i wouldn't want to repeat some of the experiences i've had. take this morning, for instance." "no, i shouldn't think you would," said dick. "but tell us about a few. it won't do you any harm to rest up an hour or two now, and we're crazy to hear some of your adventures. reel off a few, like a good fellow." bert gave them a brief review of his recent movements, and they listened with the greatest interest. some of the incidents were very amusing, but they elicited less laughter than they usually would, for the nerves of all three had not yet fully recovered from the shock they had received that morning. "well," said bert at last, rising, "i'm sorry, fellows, but i'm afraid i'll have to be moving. get hold of that auto again, why don't you, and go with me a little way. you can do that all right, can't you?" "sure," exclaimed dick. "bet your sweet life we can," chimed in tom, and so it was settled. the three comrades proceeded directly to the garage, and had no difficulty in hiring the car that had already served them so well that morning. bert ran the "blue streak" out onto the sunlit road, and, running beside it, shot on the spark. the motor started immediately, and he gave a flying leap into the saddle. dick and tom were close behind, and tried to catch up with him. but bert would not have it so. as soon as they began to get close he would shoot ahead, and although they had a speedy car, they realized that they stood no chance against such a motorcycle as the "blue streak." laughingly they gave over the attempt, and bert dropped back until they were abreast of him. "no chance, fellows," he called gaily. "the old 'blue streak' and i don't take the dust of any mere automobile." they exchanged jokes and friendly insults until they had gone much further than they realized, and were forced to turn back. they stopped before parting and shook hands. "so long, old fellow," said dick. "we'll be waiting to meet you at oklahoma." "good-bye," said bert, wringing their hands, "see you later," and, leaping on the "blue streak," was soon lost to sight in a cloud of dust. chapter x a day of disaster after he left his companions, bert made good speed for a time, and hummed along smoothly. at first all went well, and bert was congratulating himself on his good progress, when suddenly his engine commenced racing wildly. in an instant bert had shut off power, and came to a stop as soon as possible. then he dismounted, and commenced a hasty examination. the first thought that flashed across his mind was that the clutch had given way in some manner, thus allowing the motor to slip. the clutch proved to be in perfect condition, however, but a short further search revealed the cause of the trouble. the nut that held the engine driving sprocket on the shaft had worked loose and dropped off. of course, the key that prevented the sprocket from slipping on the shaft had dropped out soon afterward, thus allowing the shaft to revolve without transmitting the slightest power. "well," thought bert, "i'm in a pretty fix now, for fair. here i am thirty miles from the nearest town and provided with a permanent free engine. it rather looks as though i were up against it for fair." he made a careful search among his spare parts, but met with only partial success. he found a nut that fitted the shaft fairly well, but nothing he could substitute for the key. "perhaps if i walk back a way i'll find it," he thought, and accordingly he walked slowly back the way he had come, carefully scanning every foot of the path. he realized that the likelihood of finding it was very slim, but there was always the chance, so he hunted carefully. his efforts met with no success, and at last he was forced to admit to himself the hopelessness of the search. "but i've got to do something," he thought, "since i haven't got the part, i'll have to try and make one, that's all." he reflected a few moments, and then, seized with an idea, once more looked through the tool bag. he selected the smallest of his screwdrivers and a file, and began to file away at the screwdriver about half an inch from the end, intending to use it in place of the lost key. but the steel of which it was composed was very hard, and he found it a harder task than he had anticipated. at last, by dint of patient filing until his fingers ached, he cut through the obstinate metal and finally held the precious bit of steel between his fingers. "by jove!" he exclaimed, mopping his streaming face, "that was an awful job, but the end justifies the means. i wouldn't swap this little bit of steel now for ten times its weight in gold." he tried it in the slot on the engine shaft, and found it a fairly tight fit. "eureka!" he exclaimed aloud, "that's bending circumstances to suit your will, or i don't know what is." he quickly screwed on the holding nut, and once more was ready to start. "come along now, old fellow," he said, apostrophizing the "blue streak," "we've got to do double work now to make up for this delay. speed's the word from now on." misfortune after misfortune overtook him, however, and he was delayed again and again. it almost seemed as though fate repented of having saved him from a horrible death that morning, and was resolved to make up for her leniency by imposing unusual hardships on the devoted motorcyclist. he had not gone more than ten miles from where he had made the new shaft key when the long driving chain snapped. of course, he had extra links with him, and repaired it quickly, but even then much valuable time was lost. then, he had hardly started again before a weak place in the front tire gave way with a report like that of a pistol shot, and he was forced to put in a new tube and a repair patch. this done, he chugged on some time without further mishap, and was just beginning to believe that his troubles were over, when suddenly he was apprised by the hard jarring of the back wheel that the tire on it had gone flat. this meant another half hour's delay, and bert began to feel that he was "hoodooed" in earnest. "i wonder what will happen next," he thought, as he started off, after remedying the last misfortune. "hard luck seems to be keeping me company, and that isn't the best kind of a road companion to have." but for the present his fears remained unrealized, and as the road continued fairly good he raced along, mounting up the miles on his speedometer in a very satisfactory fashion. he made good time, and only stopped when the pangs of hunger warned him that it was lunch time. tom and dick had taken care to see that he was provided with plenty of wholesome "grub," and had personally supervised the putting up of the lunch by the good-natured hotel chef. "they certainly made a good job of it," thought he appreciatively, as he partook of delicious fried chicken sandwiches and crisp brown crullers. he washed down the meal with a long pull from his canteen, and then, after allowing himself a few minutes of hard-earned rest, was off again toward the goal that now began to seem less distant than it had before. but the "jinx" had not yet deserted him, as he was soon to discover. as he was bowling along at a pace well over thirty miles an hour, he suddenly turned a sharp bend in the road and ran squarely into a deep bed of sand. before he could slow down appreciably, he was in it--and, a second later, was in it literally. all his skill and strength could not keep the machine from skidding, and he experienced a bone-racking fall. in a second he had picked himself up, and ran to where the "blue streak" was lying, its motor still plugging away and the rear wheel sending showers of sand into the air. bert shut off the power and proceeded to take stock of damages. the footboard on the right had struck through the sand to the hard gravel below and had broken one of its supports. this weakened it so much that bert found it would not bear his weight. there was nothing for him to do but repair the damage as best he could, and at length he managed to make a temporary repair with a spool of copper wire and a pair of pliers. "this is getting serious," thought bert ruefully, as he finished the job. "i'll never get anywhere if this keeps up long. but perhaps it's better to have everything come at once and get it over with. i might as well look at the bright side of it, anyway." he started off finally, and now it seemed that at last he was to go forward without interruption. but unfortunately, he was to find that this view of the case was altogether too sanguine. the road grew continually worse, and it became impossible to make even average speed. in places it was very sandy, too, and this hindered him a good deal. his trusty mount stood the bumping and wrenching it received without the slightest sign of weakening, and bert was grateful indeed for the staunch construction that made its present satisfactory performance possible. the road was deeply rutted, and it was only by the most careful managing that he steered clear of the depressions. but nothing could stop him, and he plugged doggedly on. the "blue streak" slipped and skidded, and tried to "lie down and roll over," as he described it afterward, and the strain on his wrists and arms was tremendous. if the handlebars had once gotten out of his control they would have zigzagged wildly and the result would have been a bad fall. this bert did his best to avoid, as he was already bruised by the spills he had been through. at times he was forced to stop and rest a few minutes, and he always made use of these breathing spells to let the old oil out of his motor and pump in a fresh supply. then when he resumed his journey the motor would be like a different piece of mechanism. it almost seemed as though it, too, became weary at times and benefited by a brief rest. probably every experienced motorist has noticed this, and many theories have been advanced in explanation, but none of them seem very satisfactory. bert by this time was beginning to feel the effects of the strain he had endured all through the day. he plowed slowly through the clinging sand, traveling most of the time on low gear. this was not the best thing in the world for his engine, and every once in a while he was forced to stop and let it cool. with the engine turning over so fast he had to use an excessive supply of oil, and at length was warned, by the sucking sound of the oil pump, that the tank was empty. fortunately, however, before he left boyd he had secured an extra half gallon can of lubricating oil, which he had strapped on the luggage carrier. "and it's a mighty lucky thing i did, too," he thought, "otherwise i'd be stalled for good, with the prospect of a long tramp to the nearest town. but now i can still beat the game." he unstrapped the can, and emptied its contents into the oil tank. "that ought to last me until i reach some place where i can get more," he thought, throwing the empty can away. "here goes to buck this sand like a rotary plow going through a snow bank." he gave the motor a couple of pump fulls of oil, and started it going. slipping in the clutch, he moved forward with the grim resolve to take long chances for the sake of gaining ground. gradually he opened the throttle, and when he had attained a good speed, changed to high gear. the "blue streak" gained momentum and charged ahead, throwing showers of sand into the air. every muscle tense, bert held the motorcycle on the trail, despite the strong inclination it evinced to go off on little exploring expeditions of its own. he reeled off mile after mile at a good clip, and began to feel better. "this might be a lot worse," thought bert, "if nothing happens now, i'll have made pretty fair progress by supper time." consulting his speedometer he found that he had covered something over a hundred and twenty miles so far, which, considering all the delays he had been subjected to, and the bad roads, was very fair progress. but even as this thought was passing through his mind, the front wheel caught in a hollow, the handlebars were wrenched from his hands with a force that almost broke his wrists, and he was flying through the air. he landed with a crash, and for a few moments, dazzling lights glittered before his eyes. gradually these cleared away, and he sat up, feeling very dizzy and sick. as his head cleared, he staggered to his feet, and looked around for his motorcycle. there it lay, at some distance, half buried in the sand. he went over to it, and, after scooping some of the sand away, succeeded by a great effort in pulling it upright. "i guess my part of the race is finished right here," he thought, with a sinking heart. "something _must_ have been badly broken in a fall like that. it's a wonder i wasn't killed myself." he set the "blue streak" up on its stand, and cranked the engine. it gave a few spasmodic explosions, but then stopped. "i knew it," he exclaimed aloud, with a feeling nearly akin to despair. but his indomitable spirit was not yet ready to give up hope, and he commenced a careful examination of his mount. the handlebars were slewed around until they stood at right angles to the machine. but this was a minor thing, and with the aid of a wrench he soon set matters right. the main thing was to locate the cause of the motor refusing to run, and he set himself to solve the problem, as he had so many others in the course of this most eventful and unlucky day. he tested the magneto spark by kicking the motor over energetically, and holding the conduction cable a quarter of an inch or so from the cylinders. a hot blue spark jumped snapping across the gap, and bert drew a sigh of relief. provided the magneto were all right, he felt that he might get started again after all. "the trouble must be in the carburetor," he concluded, and forthwith proceeded to dissect that highly important part of his equipment. his suspicions proved well founded. the carburetor was packed with sand, which had worked up into the spray plug and completely blocked the fine grooves cut in it. "that's easy," thought bert. "i'll just wash this out in a little less than no time, and then i hope everything will be all right." he washed gasoline through the carburetor, and cleaned the spray plug till not a vestige of sand remained. he then quickly assembled the instrument and connected it up with the induction pipes. flooding the carburetor with gasoline, he gave the engine a quick turn over. immediately it started off with a roar, and bert threw the wrench he had been using into the air, and deftly caught it again. "hurrah!" he cried, "now, old boy, we'll try it again." he still felt rather dizzy, but the sun was getting low, and he knew he would have to "go some" to reach the next town before dark. he hastily put his tools away, and in a short time was speeding along again, nothing daunted by the accident. presently the road improved, a sure sign that he was approaching a settlement. soon he could make out the low houses of the little prairie town before him and he increased his speed, "splitting the air" like a comet. he reached the village without further trouble, and was soon solacing himself for the strenuous day he had gone through with the best dinner the resources of the town could provide. chapter xi the flaming forest early on the morning of the eighth day of the trip, bert crossed the line into oklahoma. he found little difference in the roads he encountered, most of them being of a very poor description. but by this time he was used to all sorts of going, and could listen without laughing, when one of the natives, in a fit of enthusiasm, would speak of some atrocious path as a "highway." of course, in isolated instances some village or town had inaugurated a "good roads" movement, and then bert found nothing to complain of. but as a rule the roads were inferior, and he found fast travel practically impossible. he rode steadily, however, and by noon had made fairly good progress. he now found himself in a thickly wooded country, and rode mile after mile in a deep shade that was very grateful after some of the blistering hours in the open he had been forced to undergo. there was a brisk breeze blowing, and the leaves rustled pleasantly, allowing slender shafts of sunlight to flicker through them as they swayed and whispered. bert drew in great breaths of the fragrant air, redolent of a thousand woody odors, and wished that the whole of his journey lay through such pleasant places. after a while he came to a beautiful little glen through which ran a sparkling brook. "just the place to eat lunch," thought bert, and quickly brought the "blue streak" to a standstill. dismounting, he unpacked his lunch box, and, sitting down on a broad, flat-topped rock at the edge of the stream, ate contentedly. "this place is a regular little garden of eden," he mused. "there must be fish in that stream. if i only had a hook and line along, i'll wager i'd get some sport out of it." then another thought struck him. "by jove!" he exclaimed aloud, "a swim would feel mighty good now, and there must be a place deep enough for one somewhere around here. i'm going on an exploring expedition, anyway." sure enough, around a slight bend in the stream he discovered a pool that almost looked as though it had been made to order. a gigantic tree had fallen across the stream, forming a natural dam. the clear water ran over and under it with a tinkling, splashing sound, and bert gave a shout of joy. "here goes for a glorious swim," he cried, and, undressing hastily, plunged in. the water was icy cold, and for a moment the shock of it took away his breath and made his heart stand still. but in a few seconds the reaction came, and he splashed around, and even managed to swim a few strokes in the deepest part. "this is great," he thought. "i wouldn't have missed it for worlds. it's too bad the old 'blue streak' can't enjoy it with me." he smiled as this absurd thought crossed his mind, but little knew how much of prophecy there was in it. when he felt thoroughly refreshed, he climbed out to the bank, and quickly slipped into his clothes. "i can dry out as i go along," he thought, with a grin. "somebody evidently forgot to hang bath towels on these trees. very careless of them, _i_ think." he hurried back to where he had left the motorcycle, and soon was once more purring along the woodland track. he had traveled something less than an hour, when he began to notice a thin blue haze in the air, and at the same time to smell a pungent smoke. his first thought was that he was near some settler's cabin, but as he rode on he could see no sign of human habitation, and the green forest stretched away on both sides of the road without any break that might denote a trail. but the smoke kept getting heavier every second, and suddenly the truth smote him like a blow in the face. "a forest fire," he thought, "a forest fire! and here i am, in the heart of these woods, with absolutely no way of escape, that i can see." even as these thoughts flashed through his mind, a rabbit dashed out onto the road, so mad with terror that it almost ran under the wheels of the motorcycle. bert brought his machine to a standstill with a jerk, the back tire skidding as he jammed on his brake. a thousand plans raced through his head, only to be rejected as soon as formed. of them all only one offered the slightest hope of escape. "the brook," he thought, "if i can only get back there i'll have a chance to pull through. if the fire beats me to it--well, there will be one less contestant in this race, that's all." he lifted the motorcycle bodily from the ground, in his excitement and dire need, handling it as easily as he would a bicycle, pointing it back the way he had so lately come. then, with a shove and a leap he was off on a wild ride, with life itself as the prize. he flew swiftly along the narrow trail, careless of ruts and obstructions that he had avoided with the greatest care but a short time before. the smoke grew thick and choking, reddening his eyes, irritating his lungs. it was only by the greatest good fortune that he avoided a collision with the panic-stricken animals that dashed across the road in great numbers, disappearing among the underbrush on the other side. now he could hear a distant roaring and crackling, and great waves of heat billowed down upon him. he clenched his teeth, and opened the throttle to the utmost. the woods streaked away on both sides, and soon he saw that he was nearing his goal. but the fire was traveling fast as well as he, and he could see it leaping through the tops of the trees at no great distance. the heat scorched and burned him, and the motorcycle felt hot to the touch. but, after what seemed an interminable time, he reached the brook, which now offered the last chance of safety. scarcely checking his speed, bert swung off the road. his machine skidded wildly, but the tires gripped in time, and bert steered for the deep pool in which he had bathed less than two hours ago. the "blue streak" crashed through the underbrush, beating down all opposition by its terrific momentum, the powerful motor forcing it forward like a battering ram. bert gripped the tank with his knees, and held on grimly, checking his mount at last at the brink of the pool. by now, the heat was almost intolerable, but there was still something left for him to do before he could plunge into the cool water. way back in his camping days he had learned the best way of fighting a forest fire, and now he put his knowledge to account. he applied a light to the grass and underbrush bordering the pool, and a thin line of flame began creeping to meet the furious conflagration dashing through the trees. this would leave a narrow belt of charred land around the pool that would hold the fire at a little distance, at least. this done, bert seized the handlebars of his motorcycle, and hauled it into the pool after him, until it was partly immersed. "that's the best i can do for you, old friend," he said. "i guess the fire can't reach you there, at any rate." then he waded in until he reached the deepest part of the pool, and waited for the advance of the devouring element. he had plenty of company, as rabbits, foxes, and numerous other wild creatures continually plunged into the water, their eyes wide with terror, and all thoughts of age-old enmities wiped from their minds. the heat grew more intense every moment, and bert felt the skin on his face blistering. he took a long breath, and ducked his head completely under water. he kept it there until it seemed as though his lungs would burst for lack of air, and then lifted it to take another breath. in those few seconds the fire had made tremendous strides, and now met the backfire that bert had started. he had only time to take a hasty glimpse of all this, and then was forced to duck under again. every breath he drew was hot as the blast of a furnace, and seemed fairly to scorch his lungs. the fire burned for a few minutes with no appreciable lessening of its fury, but then, deprived of fuel, gradually passed by on each side of the pool. its terrific roaring slowly died away in the distance, and the unbearable heat abated somewhat, although smoke still hung in a heavy pall over the blackened ground. at last bert found he could venture from the water with safety, and accordingly did so. at the same time the wild creatures who had sought refuge in the same place bethought themselves of engagements elsewhere, and scampered off. bert hauled the "blue streak" out of the water, and found it practically unharmed. some of the enamel had blistered, but bert paid little attention to this, so long as the machine was still in running order. he had taken care not to let the water touch the magneto, and so was able to start immediately. as he rode over the blackened trail, bert could not help comparing the scene of desolation that now met his eye with the beautiful appearance the woods had presented so short a time before. in places the ground still smoked and smouldered, and in others trees burned like giant torches. but bert realized that he had had a narrow escape from death, and this thought kept him from dwelling too long on the devastated landscape. after two or three hours' riding, he passed the fire belt, and once more entered a flourishing forest. he made steady progress, and before nightfall reached a fair-sized town. most of the able-bodied men had not returned from fighting the fire, and at first the few who were left would hardly believe bert's account of his escape. but a look at the blistered enamel on the motorcycle convinced them, and they united in congratulating him on his good fortune. as one grizzled old fellow remarked, "thar ain't many folks as can say they've come through a forest fire as easy as you did, son. thar generally ain't much o' them left to tell the story." chapter xii racing an airship it was a hot, oppressive day when bert set out from ralston. but he had had a restful sleep, and felt in fine trim for anything. he had eaten a hearty breakfast, and this no doubt added to his feeling of buoyancy and satisfaction with life in general. in addition, his mount was acting beautifully, purring along with the deep-throated exhaust that tells its own story of fine adjustments and perfect carburetion. the country through which he traveled was very flat, and for mile after mile he glided easily along, encountering no obstructions worthy of the name. the road was smooth, and, contrary to the general run of roads in this section, comparatively free from sand and dust. the fresh, invigorating air added to his feeling of exhilaration, and he was tempted to "open 'er up" and do a little speeding. he had about decided to do so, when suddenly he became conscious of hearing some noise not proceeding from his machine. at first he thought it must be an automobile coming up back of him, but, as he glanced over his shoulder, he could see no sign of one, although the road stretched out for miles without a break. instantly his mind grasped the significance of the sound. "it must be an aeroplane," he thought, and, glancing upward, was not much surprised to see one outlined against the clear blue of the sky. "well, well," thought bert, "this is an unexpected pleasure. i didn't know there was an aeroplane within two hundred miles of here." the aeroplane, which proved to be of the biplane type, was evidently descending. at first, bert had stopped to get a good look at it, but then, feeling that he had no time to lose, had remounted and resumed his journey. but as he went along, he knew that the 'plane was still descending because of the increasing noise of its exhaust. in the same way he could tell that the machine was overtaking him, but at first the thought of trying to beat it never entered his head. even in all his varied and exciting adventures he had never had a brush with such an adversary. in an incredibly short time, however, the aeroplane was directly over his head, and he glanced upward. as he did so, the aviator leaned forward slightly, and waved his gloved hand. bert waved in reply, and then the airman made a gesture which bert interpreted, and rightly, as being a challenge. needless to say, our hero was not one to decline such an invitation, and accordingly he opened his throttle a little. instantly his exhaust changed from its deep grumble to a harsh bark, and his machine leaped forward. in answer to this, the aviator fed more gas to _his_ motor, and his graceful machine soared forward in advance of bert and the "blue streak." "oho!" thought bert, "this will never do," and he gave his powerful machine more throttle, at the same time advancing the spark to the limit. that last fraction of an inch of spark sent his machine surging ahead like some wild thing let loose, and he leaned far down to escape the terrific resistance caused by the wind. the road streamed away behind him, and he had a thrill of exultation as he felt his machine leap forward in response to the slightest touch of the throttle. his adversary in the air was not to be easily outdistanced, however, and he kept up with bert, refusing to be shaken off. bert felt that now was the time to take the lead, if possible, and accordingly he opened the throttle almost to the limit, although he still held something in reserve. the powerful motor responded nobly, and the machine skimmed over the sun-baked road at a terrific pace. the bird-man did his best to squeeze a little more speed out of his whirling motor, but was unable to cope with the rushing, roaring little speck down below him. at last he was forced to a realization of this, and abruptly cut down his speed. bert continued his headlong flight for a short time, but finding that the aeroplane did not pass him, concluded that it must have fallen behind. accordingly, he slackened his own speed, but very gradually, for he was too wise to risk disaster by slowing down too suddenly. soon his speed had abated sufficiently to allow the use of the brakes, and he brought his machine to a standstill. lifting it onto its stand, he pushed his goggles up on his forehead, and looked around for his late rival. he made out the aeroplane at no great distance, and could see that it was making preparations to land. when the aviator reached a point almost over bert's head, he shut off his engine entirely, and, describing a great spiral, landed gently on the ground not a hundred yards from where bert and the "blue streak" were standing. bert immediately ran toward him, and the aviator stepped stiffly from his seat and held out his hand. "you've got a mighty fast machine there, comrade," he said, with a grin, as bert shook hands with him. "i thought my 'plane was pretty good, but i guess your motor bike is better." "well, it isn't so bad, perhaps," replied bert, unable no matter how hard he tried, to keep a little note of pride out of his voice. "i manage to get a little action out of it once in a while." "i should say you did," agreed his late rival, "but what are you doing way out here a thousand miles from nowhere, more or less?" "i might ask the same question of you," replied bert, with a smile, "but as you beat me to it, i'll answer yours first." bert then proceeded to outline briefly the contest in which he was engaged, but, before he had gone far, his companion interrupted him. "oh, i know all about that!" he exclaimed. "and so you're one of the chaps in the transcontinental race, are you? well, you haven't got so much further to go, considering the distance you've covered already." "no, i guess the worst of it is over," agreed bert, "although i've been told that there are some very bad roads ahead of me." "you're right, there are," replied the aviator, "and that's where i have an advantage over you. i don't have to worry over road conditions." bert saw that he was a little chagrined over his defeat, and so forebore to argue the merits of motorcycle versus airship. "just the same," he thought to himself, "i'm a whole lot more likely to get where i want to go than he is." then he and his new-found companion fell into a discussion regarding various types of motors, and inspected each other's machines with interest. by the time this was over it was high noon, and bert proposed that they eat lunch together. the aviator agreed heartily to this, and accordingly they unpacked their lunches and, sitting in the shade of one of the aeroplane wings, made a hearty meal. when the last crumb had been disposed of, they shook hands with expressions of mutual regard, and the aviator was very cordial in wishing bert all kinds of success in the contest. then they said good-bye, and resumed their respective journeys. bert watched the airship ascend in great spirals, until it was a mere speck in the distance, winging rapidly eastward. before starting, bert looked over his machine carefully, in order to assure himself that nothing had been loosened by the vibration caused by the high speed. everything seemed in perfect shape, and in less time than it takes to tell he was "eating up space" in a fashion that promised to land him speedily at his destination. but before he had gone many miles, he found the road, which up to now had been exceptionally good, becoming more and more sandy, and he was forced to go slowly and pick his way very carefully. as the sand grew deeper his machine evinced a very decided tendency to skid, and he was forced to exert all his strength to keep the front wheel pointed straight ahead. soon he shifted to low gear, and crawled forward at a pace little faster than a brisk walk. he now had reason, as indeed he had a score of times so far, to bless the foresight that had led him to purchase a two-speed machine. without this, he felt that the accomplishment of his task would be well-nigh hopeless. the heat became more and more oppressive, and the alkali dust on his face smarted and blistered. at intervals he would dismount, take a drink from his canteen, and give his motor a chance to cool off. then he would start on again, resolved to reach the next town before nightfall. what with the many interruptions and the slow pace, however, darkness overtook him while yet he was more than ten miles from his destination. dismounting, he lighted his lamp, and once more took up the forward flight. the air, from being excessively hot, now became quite the opposite, and he felt chilled to the bone. he kept doggedly on, nevertheless, and at last his perseverance was rewarded by his catching a glimpse of the lights of the town for which he was bound. at the same time the road became much better, and he covered the intervening mile or two at good speed. the town was not a large one, but it could afford a square meal and a good bed, and that was all that bert asked for. he had a hard time to tear himself away from the other guests, who were very much interested in his adventures, and plied him with innumerable questions. at last he managed to say good-night, and fifteen minutes afterward was sunk in the deep, dreamless sleep of utter but healthy exhaustion. chapter xiii an unseen listener bert was lost. there was no use blinking the fact. for two hours past this feeling had been growing stronger, and now it had deepened into a conviction. it was an unusual and disconcerting experience for him. his sense of location was very keen and acute, and, even without a compass, he had been able almost instinctively to distinguish the cardinal points. but just now he was deprived of the help of that trusty counselor. he had been compelled to dismount, a little while since, to make some trifling adjustment. some time later, when the sun had disappeared under a cloud, he felt in the pocket where he usually carried his compass, and was dismayed to find it empty. he must have lost it in bending over the machine. he could replace it when he reached the next large town, but just at present he missed it sorely. for an hour now, the sun had been invisible, and although he felt confident he was traveling due west, he would have given a good deal for absolute assurance of that fact. if he had been following some broad highway, he would not so much have cared, as he would have been sure before long to reach some settlement where he could again get his bearings. but there had been a number of trails, none of them well-defined, and he had chosen one that grew fainter and fainter as he progressed until it had faded away into the mass of the prairie. in bright sunlight, he might have still been able to trace it, but, in the dun haze and gathering dusk, it was no longer visible. although the country was mostly a level plain, it was interspersed here and there with bits of woodland and rocky buttes, rising in places to a height of two hundred feet. one of these bert descried in the distance, and, putting on more power, he neared it rapidly. if he had to spend the night in the open, which seemed very probable now, he wanted to have the cheer and comfort of a fire, and there was no material for that in the treeless plain. at the edge of the wood he could get boughs and branches. by the aid of the spirit lamp that he carried in his kit, he could make a pot of coffee to supplement the sandwiches he had with him. by the time he had reached the woods it had grown wholly dark. he jumped from the saddle, leaned the "blue streak" against a tree, and commenced to gather twigs and branches. he soon had enough for his purpose, and was just about to apply a match, when he caught the twinkle of a light, farther up the wooded slope. he looked closely and could see the outlines of a cabin from which the light was streaming. the discovery was both a surprise and a delight. here was human companionship, and an opportunity to know just where he was and how he could best reach the nearest town. he thought it was probably the hut of some sheepherder or cattleman, and he had no doubt of a warm welcome. apart from the hospitality that is proverbial on the western plains, the occupant of that lonely cabin would be just as glad as himself to have a companion for the night. he thrust his matchbox back in its waterproof pouch, and, taking his machine by the handlebars, began to trundle it up the slope. his first impulse was to blow the horn of his motorcycle, as a cheery announcement that a stranger was coming. but as he reached out his hand, some unseen power seemed to hold him back. there seemed to be no reason for the caution, but that subtle "sixth sense," that experience had taught bert to rely upon, asserted itself. on such occasions he had learned not to argue, but to obey. he did so now, and, instead of going directly to the cabin as he had planned at first, made a wide circle and came up behind. he left the motorcycle fifty feet away, and then with infinite care drew near the cabin. it was a rude structure of logs, and mud had been used to close up the chinks. there was no window on that side, but in several places the dried mud had fallen away, and the light shone through the crevices. bert glued his eye to the largest of these openings and looked in. a smoky lamp stood on a rough pine table, before which a man was seated on a nail keg. his face was partly turned away, and, at the moment bert saw him, he was applying his lips to a half-filled whiskey bottle. he took an enormous dram and then slammed the bottle down on the table and drew his sleeve across his mouth. around his waist was a cartridge belt, and two ugly-looking revolvers peeped from his holsters. a bowie knife lay on the table beside the lamp. the outlook was not reassuring, and bert blessed the caution that had impelled him to "hasten slowly" in approaching the cabin. he blessed it again when the man with an oath and a snarl picked up a handbill that had dropped on the floor. in doing so, he exposed his full face to view, and bert thought that he had seldom seen one so wholly villainous. the ferret-like eyes, set close together, as they looked out from beneath bushy brows, glinted with ferocity. although comparatively young, dissipation and reckless living had stamped their impress on every feature. his outthrust jaw bespoke a bulldog courage and determination. brute was written largely all over him. an ugly scar across his temple told of the zip of a bullet or the crease of a knife. it was the face of a desperado who would stop at nothing, however murderous or cruel, to gain his ends. as the light fell upon the paper, bert saw that it was headed by the word "reward" in staring capitals. then came a picture that corresponded closely to the face of the man who was reading. large print followed, of which bert could see enough to grasp the meaning. it was an offer of five thousand dollars reward for the capture, alive or dead, of "billy the kid," who had held up a stage at valley gulch two weeks before, and, after killing the driver and one of the passengers who had resisted, had made his escape with the contents of the express company's pouch. billy the kid! the newspapers had been full of the robbery at the time it was committed, and columns had been published narrating his exploits. he was wanted for thefts and murders covering a series of years. posses were out for him in all directions, but he seemed to bear a charmed life and had successfully evaded capture. an almost superstitious fear attached to his name, and he was cited as an illustrious example of the "devil taking care of his own." "dead or alive," muttered the outlaw with an ugly sneer. "it will have to be dead, then. they'll never get me alive." bert was in a ticklish situation. the slightest move on his part might betray his presence to this sullen bandit, to whom human life was nothing. he slipped his hand behind him and was comforted by the feel of his revolver. it was a colt .45, fully loaded, and he knew how to use it. in that fight with the pirates off the chinese coast it had done good service. he knew that, at need, he could rely upon it now. he took it from his hip pocket and put it in his breast, with the handle protruding so that he could grasp it instantly. just then the gallop of horses smote upon his ears. the outlaw heard it, too, and jumped to his feet. he blew out the light and snatched up his weapons. the hoof beats drew nearer and a halloo rang out that was evidently a preconcerted signal. with an oath of relief the desperado relighted the lamp and went to the door. "it's time you came," he ripped out savagely. "what kept you so long?" "couldn't help it, cap," protested a man who entered the cabin, closely followed by four others. "manuel had to hang around the telegraph office till the message came from red pete. the minute it came, we beat it lickety split and almost killed our hosses getting here." the leader snatched the held out telegram and read it eagerly while the five men, of the same desperate type as their captain, stood around ready to jump at his bidding. it was clear that they feared and cringed to him. his brute force and superior cunning combined with his evil reputation held them in complete subjection. the telegram was brief and seemingly innocent: "mary leaves at ten. meet her with carriage. pleasant visit." he drew from his pocket a scrap of paper, evidently containing a key to the message. he compared it with the telegram, and a light of unholy glee came into his eyes. "it's all right, boys," he said, his fierce demeanor softening somewhat. "the overland limited will be at the water tank near dorsey at three o'clock. there'll be forty thousand in the express messenger's safe. it's up to us to make a rich haul and a quick getaway. now listen to me," and with the swift decision that marks the born leader and that went far to explain his ascendancy over his men, he sketched out the plan of the coming robbery. "you, mike and manuel, will attend to the engineer and fireman. first get their hands up over their heads. then keep them covered and make them uncouple the engine and express car from the rest of the train and run up the track a half a mile or so. i'll see to the express messenger myself. he'll open that safe or i'll blow his head off and then break open the safe with dynamite. joe and bob and ed will stay by the train and keep shooting off their guns, to cow the passengers and trainmen while we get in our work. we won't have time to go through the cars, as it will be too near daylight, and we'll have to do some hard riding while it's dark. i hate to let the passengers' coin and jewelry go, but we'll get enough from the express car to make up for that. let your horses rest till twelve and then we'll saddle up and get to the water tank by two. now you fellows know what you've got to do, and god help the man who makes a bad break. he'll have to reckon with me," and he laid his hand significantly on the handle of his knife. there was an uneasy grin on the part of the men, and then they fell to discussing the details of the plan, while the bottle passed freely from hand to hand. bert, who had listened breathlessly to the daring plot, was doing some rapid thinking. he had not the slightest idea where the water tank was located. it might be east, west, north or south, as far as he knew. but what he did know was that it behooved him to get away from that dangerous locality at the earliest possible moment. his life would not have been worth much if he had been discovered before they had discussed the robbery. now that he was in possession of the details, it would be worth absolutely nothing. a killing more or less made no difference to these abandoned outlaws, and they would have shot him with as little concern as they would a prairie dog. then, too, the alarm ought to be given at once. by riding into the night, he would have a chance of reaching some town and getting into touch with the railroad authorities, by wire or phone. or he might run across some one familiar with the country who could guide him. anything was better than inaction. theft and murder were in the air, and every passing moment made them more probable. he might break his neck, collide with a rock or a tree, ride over a precipice in the dark. but he had to take a chance. danger had never yet turned him from the path of duty. it should not daunt him now. chapter xiv the outlaw plot slowly, carefully, hardly venturing to breathe, he backed away from the cabin. he got outside the zone of light and felt for his motorcycle. with the utmost caution not to touch the horn or siren, he guided it in a wide semicircle down the slope. one of the horses whinnied as he passed and an outlaw appeared at the door. after listening for a moment, while bert stood like a stone image in his track, the man, evidently satisfied, turned and went inside. then bert moved on again by inches until he reached the edge of the woods. from there he knew that the faint click made by the valves in starting could not possibly be heard from above. he drew a long breath and for the first time turned his gaze toward the sky. he was rejoiced to find that the clouds had vanished and that the deep blue was sown with stars. he needed no compass now. there was the gleaming polar star by which he had often guided his course as unerringly as by the sun. he paused a moment to get a direction due west. then he leaped into the saddle and was off. not until he was sure that he was beyond the sight of any possible watcher from the cabin, did he dismount and light his lamp. then with the confidence that came from the light streaming far ahead of him, he threw in the clutch and let his machine out to the limit. he had ridden perhaps twenty miles, looking anxiously about for the lights of a town, when at some distance he saw the flames from a campfire in the lee of a bluff far away to his right. he could see a group of men, some moving about, others stretched out near the fire apparently asleep. mindful of his previous experience, he put out his light and glided toward them like a shrouded ghost. stopping outside the circle of light, where he could study the scene at his leisure, he counted a dozen men. they were strapping fellows, rough in dress and appearance, but with honest, fearless faces. one of them wore a badge that stamped him as an official of some kind, and he was evidently in command of the party. bert hesitated no longer, but, mounting, rode slowly into the firelight. there was a gasp of wonder at his appearance, and the men who were still awake sprang to their feet with their hands on their pistol butts. a second glance, however, as bert waved his hand in friendly fashion, disarmed them and they came hastily forward. "well, stranger," said the man with the badge, "you came in on us rather sudden like and we was plumb surprised for a minute. you seem to be all right though, and that machine of yours is certainly some beaut. we're more used to riding four-legged things, though. we don't ask anything about a man's business out here unless we happen to have some particular business with him," and he touched his star. "so you can tell us nothing or as much as you like. as to me i ain't got any secrets as to whom i am. i'm the sheriff of wentworth county and this here is my posse." "just the man i'd rather see at this minute than any one else in the world," exclaimed bert, delightedly. and then, in words that tumbled over one another in their haste, he told them who he was, how he had been lost on the prairie and of his adventure near the cabin of "billy the kid." at the mention of that notorious name the sheriff fairly jumped. "what!" he shouted. "billy the kid and his gang? they're the fellows we're out for now. here, boys," he yelled, "get busy. we're on a fresh trail and we'll bag the hull bunch before daylight." instantly the camp was alive with excitement. horses were untethered and saddled, and within five minutes the posse was ready to start. bert had given hurriedly the details of the plot and the sheriff's campaign was quickly planned. he knew every foot of the surrounding country and he headed his troop straight as the crow flies for dorsey, the little town, beyond which lay the tank where the limited would slow down to take water. his line of march was shorter than that of the outlaws, and besides, they had not planned to leave the cabin before midnight. he could count on getting there first and having time to make his dispositions for the round-up of the gang. "well, son," he said, with a warm grip of the hand, when they were ready to start, "i sure owe you a lot for this tip. this country's going to sleep a heap sight better when they know these fellows have dangled from the end of a rope. but how about you, now? i'll send one of my men along with you to lonsdale, if you like. that's fifteen mile west of here and on the line of road you're traveling." "no, thanks," replied bert promptly, "i'm going with you, if you'll have me." "going with us," echoed the sheriff in surprise. "of course, i'm glad to have you. but that gang is 'bad medicine' and there's goin' to be some shooting. you ain't got no call to mix in, 'cept of your own free will." "sure, i know," said bert. "i'm going along." "son," exclaimed the sheriff, extending his hand, "put her thar. i'm proud to know you. you're the real stuff, all wool and a yard wide. come along." a word of command and they clattered off, bert keeping alongside of the leader. he was thrilling with excitement. the primitive emotions had him in their grip. a little while before, he had been in the conventional world of law and order and civilization. now, he was seeing life "in the raw." a battle was imminent, and here he was riding to the battlefield over the prairies at midnight under the silent stars. the blood coursed violently through his veins and his heart beat high with passion for the fight. that he himself was running the risk of wounding and death was only an added stimulus. for the moment he was a "cave man," like his ancestors in the morning of the world, stealing forth from their lair for a raid against their enemies. later on, when cooler, he would analyze and wonder at these emotions. but now, he yielded to them, and the time seemed long before the little cavalcade swept through the sleeping town of dorsey, and then, at a more slow and careful pace, made their way to the water tank below the station. as they came nearer, they dismounted and led their horses to a clump of trees on the eastern side of the tank and a half a mile away. two men were left in charge, with orders to strap the horses' jaws together, so that they could not neigh and thus betray their masters. it was figured that the outlaws would approach from the west, and the members of the posse disposed themselves in a wide semicircle, so that, at a given signal, they could surround and overpower the robbers. if possible, they were to capture them alive so that they could answer to justice for their crimes. but, alive or dead, they were to "get" them. and as bert looked on the stern, determined faces of his companions, he had no doubt of the outcome of the struggle. after they had taken their places, lying flat on the ground with such shelter as a bush or cactus plant afforded, there was a considerable wait that was more trying to the nerves than actual fighting. bert and the sheriff were close together, but, except for an occasional whisper, neither spoke. they were busy with their thoughts and intent on the approaching fray. perhaps an hour had elapsed before they heard the distant tramp of horses. soon they could see half a dozen men approaching, their figures dimly outlined in the starlight. the grip of the watchers tightened on their pistol butts as they strained their eyes to get a better view of their quarry. then silence fell again. a half hour went by. suddenly a faint whistle was heard in the distance, the ground began to tremble and a great headlight swung into view, far up the track. it was the road's crack train, the overland limited. the moment was at hand. with a terrific rumbling and clanking and ringing of bells, the ponderous train slowed down at the tank. the fireman was already on the tender, ready to slew over the pipe that would bring a cataract of water down into the reservoir. just as he reached for it, there was a fusillade of shots. two masked men covered the startled engineer and fireman with their revolvers and ordered them to hold up their hands. another hammered at the door of the express car and commanded the messenger to open, on pain of instant death. farther down the train other shots rang out and windows were shattered by bullets to warn passengers to stay inside. but just then came a diversion. with a yell and a rush the sheriff and his men swept down upon the astonished outlaws, firing as they came. the bandits were caught like rats in a trap. they were the center of a ring of flame, but they fought back savagely. there were cries and curses, as men emptied their revolvers and then clinched in deadly struggle. the bandit leader, leaving the express car, plunged headlong into the fight, battling like a fiend. when his revolver was empty he flung it into the sheriff's face and made a break for his horse. but bert was too quick for him, and tackled him, just as he had put one foot in the stirrup and was swinging the other over his mount. with a mighty wrench he dragged him from the saddle. the "kid" uttered a fearful oath and reached for his knife. bert's hands closed around his throat and they went to the ground rolling over and over like two panthers. at gun or knife play the outlaw would have been the victor. but in this hand-to-hand struggle, bert was easily his master. his tremendous strength, reinforced by clean living and athletic training, soon triumphed over the rum-soaked body of the "kid." but the latter's ferocity was appalling, and bert had to choke him almost into unconsciousness, before his muscles relaxed and he lay there limp and gasping. as bert rose, breathless but victorious, he saw that the fight was over. two of the outlaws were dead and another fatally wounded. the other two were in the hands of their captors, and the sheriff coming up, snapped handcuffs on the "kid" and jerked him to his feet. passengers and trainmen came pouring from the cars, and there was a babel of excited questionings. the conductor, full of relief and gratitude at his train's escape from looting, offered to carry the party to the next town on the line. but the sheriff elected to take his prisoners across country to the county seat, and after another exchange of congratulations, the train moved on. then the triumphant posse, with one of its members severely, another slightly wounded, took up their homeward trip. they had made one of the most important captures in the history of the state, and the next day the country would be ringing with their praises. they were naturally jubilant, and the sheriff urged bert earnestly to come with them as the real hero of the roundup. but he stoutly refused and the only favor he would accept was the loan of a guide to take him over to lonsdale. "well," said the sheriff at last reluctantly, "i suppose you know your own business best, but i shore am sorry to say good-bye. you've made an awful hit with me, son. that was a lovely scrap you put up with the 'kid,' and i've never seen a prettier bit of rough housing. i hope you win your race and i believe you will. anybody that can put one over on 'billy the kid' can pretty near get anything he goes after. if ever you're looking for work," he joked, "come out to wentworth county and i'll make you assistant sheriff. perhaps, though, you'd better not," and his eyes twinkled, "cause it wouldn't be long before you'd have my job." chapter xv a murderous grip bert was having his first glimpse of the sea since he started on his trip. he was weary of the land which he had traversed so swiftly and steadily for two weeks past. the impression stamped upon his brain was that of an endless ribbon of road, between whose edges his motorcycle had sped along, until he seemed like a living embodiment of perpetual motion. that ribbon had commenced to unwind at the eastern end of the continent, and there were still a good many miles to be reeled off before the race was ended. but now, as he sat on the veranda of the beach hotel facing the sea whose surf broke on the sands a hundred feet away, he could feel his weariness dropping away like a cast-off garment. the tang of the ocean was a tonic that filled him with new life, and his nostrils dilated as they drew in great draughts of the salt air. "ponce de leon was wrong when he looked for the elixir of life in a fountain," he thought to himself. "he should have sought for it in the sea." before him stretched the mighty pacific, its crested waves glittering in the sun. fishing vessels and coasting craft flashed their white sails near the shore, while, far out on the horizon, he could see the trail of smoke that followed in the wake of a liner. great billows burst into spray on the beach, and the diapason of the surf reverberated in his ears like rich organ music. he drank it all in thirstily, as though storing up inspiration for the completion of his task. a man sitting near by looked at him with a quizzical smile, frankly interested by bert's absorption in the scene before him. with easy good-fellowship, he remarked: "you seem to be getting a lot of pleasure out of the view." "i am," replied bert promptly; "i can't get enough of it." "there are plenty of people who have got enough of it," he observed drily, "your humble servant among the number." bert scented a story, but repressed any sign of curiosity. "it's the infinite variety that appeals to me," he said. "the sea is full of wonders." "and tragedies," supplemented the other. he settled back in his chair and lighted a fresh cigar. as he struck the match, bert noticed that his right hand was horribly scarred and disfigured. it looked as though it had been drawn through a harrow whose teeth had bitten deep. great livid weals crossed each other on the back, and two of the fingers were gone. and bert noted that, although his face and frame indicated that he was not more than thirty years old, his hair was snowy white. "of course, that's true," said bert, reverting to the stranger's last remark; "storms and shipwrecks and typhoons and tidal waves are things that have to be reckoned with." "yes," was the reply, "but i wasn't thinking especially of these. they're common enough and terrible enough. what i had in mind was the individual tragedies that are happening all the time, and of which not one in a hundred ever hears." "do you see this hair of mine?" he asked, removing his hat. "one day at noon it was as dark as yours. at three o'clock on that same day it was like this." he paused a moment, as though battling with some fearful recollection. "i don't know how familiar you may be with the pacific," he resumed, "but on this coast there is every variety of monster that you can find in any other ocean, and usually of a fiercer and larger type. nowhere do you find such man-eating sharks or such malignant devil-fish. the sharks don't come near enough to the shore to bother us much. but it's safe to say that within half a mile from here, there are gigantic squids, with tentacles from twelve to twenty feet long. more than one luckless swimmer, venturing out too far, has been dragged down by them, and there are instances where they have picked a man out of a fishing boat. if those tentacles ever get you in their murderous grip, it's all over with you. "then, too, we have what is called the 'smotherer,' something like a monstrous ray, that spreads itself out over its prey and forces it down in the mud at the bottom, until it is smothered to death. it's a terror to divers, and they fear it more than they do the shark. "but these perils are well known and can be guarded against. if i'd got into any trouble with them, it would probably have been largely my own fault. but it is the 'unexpected that happens,' and the thing that marked me for life was something not much bigger than my fist. "have you ever seen an abalone? no? well, it's a kind of shellfish that's common on this coast. it has one shell and that a very beautiful one, so that it is in considerable demand. the inside of it is like mother of pearl and there are little swellings on it called 'blisters,' that gleam with all the colors of the rainbow. it's a favorite sport here to get up 'abalone parties,' just as you fellows in the east go crabbing. only, instead of getting after them with a net, we use a crowbar. queer kind of fishing, isn't it?" "i should say it was," smiled bert. "well, you see, it's this way. the body of the abalone is a mass of muscle that has tremendous strength. it is so powerful, that the natives of the south sea islands use the abalones to catch sharks with. fact. they fasten a chain to the abalone, and it swims out and attaches itself to the under side of a shark. then they pull it in, and no matter how hard the shark struggles and threshes about, it has to come. the abalone would be torn to pieces before it would let go. it's the bulldog of the shellfish tribe, and a harpoon wouldn't hold the shark more securely. "on the coast, here, they fasten themselves to the rocks, and as these are usually covered at high tide, you have to hunt them when the tide is low. you wade out among the rocks until you catch sight of an abalone. then you insert the crowbar between the shell and the rock. only the enormous leverage this gives enables you to pry it off. the strongest man on earth couldn't pull it away with his bare hands. "usually, we went in parties, and there was a good deal of rivalry as to who would get the largest and finest shells. i forgot to say that, besides the shells themselves, once in a while you can find a pearl of considerable value and great beauty. this occurs so seldom, however, that it is always a red-letter day when you have such a bit of luck. "one day, a friend had arranged to go abalone hunting with me, but just as we were getting ready to start out, a telegram called him away from town, on important business. it would have been the luckiest thing that ever happened to me if i had got a telegram too. we were both much disappointed, as on that day we were going to try a new place, where we had a 'hunch' that we would make a good haul. "the weather was so fine and i had my mind so set upon the trip, that i determined to go it alone. the tide that day would be at low water mark at about twelve o'clock. i threw a lunch together, got out my bag and crowbar and started. "a tramp of a couple of miles down the beach brought me to the place we had in mind. it was a desolate stretch of shore, with no houses in sight except an occasional fisherman's shack, and the crowds that frequented the other beaches had left this severely alone. it was this, added to the fact that an unusual number of rocks was visible at low tide, that had made us fix on it as a promising location. "the day was bright and clear and the sea had never appeared so beautiful. looked to me, i imagine, a good deal as it did to you just now. it has never seemed beautiful to me since. "the tide was on the ebb, but had not yet run out fully, and i had to wait perhaps half an hour before the rocks were uncovered enough to permit me to see the abalones in their hiding places. i spent the time lying lazily on the sand with half shut eyelids, and basking in the inexpressible charm of sea and sky. i never dreamed of the horror the scene would inspire in me a little later on. there was a long swell but little surf that day, and there was nothing cruel in the way the waves danced in the sunlight and came gliding up, with an air that was almost caressing, to where i lay stretched out at perfect peace with myself and the world. "soon the ebb had reached its limit and there was that momentary hesitation before the tide, as though it had forgotten something and were coming back for it, began to flow in. now was the time, if i wanted to fill the sack that i had brought along with me to hold my spoil. i remember chuckling to myself, as i looked around and saw that there was not a soul in sight. if this should prove the rich hunting ground i believed it to be, i would have first choice of the finest specimens. "i slung the bag over my shoulder and holding the crowbar in my left hand, began to make my way out to the rocks. i had stripped off my outer clothing, and was in the swimming suit that i wore underneath. the water was deliciously refreshing, after the sun bath i had been enjoying, and i went leisurely along until i came to where the rocks were thickest. the slope was very gradual, and, by the time i got among them, i was some distance from the shore. then i became alert and alive, and buckled down to my work. "my friend and i had made no mistake. the rocks were full of abalones and my bag was soon filling rapidly. i exulted in the thought of the virgin field that we too would exploit together. "but, although the shells were numerous and unusually fine in their markings, i could not find any that contained a pearl. that was the one thing necessary to make my day a perfect success. i began to hustle now, as the tide was beginning to come in strongly, and before long the rising waters would cover the rocks. "suddenly, i saw under the green surface a large abalone with its shell gaping widely. and my heart gave a jubilant leap as i saw a large pearl just within the edge of the shell. how i came to do such a fool thing i don't know, but, with a shout, i reached out my hand to grasp it. i slipped as i did so, and, in trying to steady myself, the crowbar flew out of my left hand and fell several feet away. and just then the shell began to tighten. i tried to withdraw my hand, but it was too late. that closing shell held it against the rock as though in an iron clamp. "a sweat broke out all over me and icy chills chased themselves up and down my spine. i pulled with all my might, but the shell, as though in mockery, closed tighter. the feeling of that clammy mass of gristle and muscle against the flesh filled me with a sick loathing that, for the moment, overbore the pain of my crushed hand. so, i imagine, a man might feel in the slimy folds of a boa constrictor. "instinctively, i raised my other hand, as if to insert the crowbar. then i realized that it had fallen from my hand. i could see where it lay between two rocks, not six feet away. six feet! it might as well have been six miles. "i was trapped. the full horror of my situation burst upon me. i was alone, held fast by that powerful shell that recognized me as an enemy and would never relax of its own accord. _and the tide was coming in._ "in a fury of rage and terror, i struck at the abalone with my left hand while with all my strength i tried to tear away my right. but i could have as soon succeeded in pulling it from beneath a triphammer. there were gaping rents in the flesh opened by my struggles and i could see my blood mingling with the green water. "you have heard of bears and lynxes caught in traps who have chewed at their imprisoned leg until they left it behind them and hobbled away, maimed and bleeding, but free. i swear to you that i would have done the same with that hand of mine, if i had been able. "i thought of a woodsman whom i knew, who had been caught by a falling tree that had crushed his foot. he knew that if he stayed there that night, the wolves would get him. his axe was within reach and he deliberately chopped off his foot. i didn't have even that chance. i was in my bathing suit and my knife was in the clothes left on the shore. "and all this time the cruel, treacherous sea was coming in and the tide was mounting higher and higher. it purled about me softly, gently, like a cat playing with a mouse. i beat at it angrily with my left hand and it seemed to laugh. it felt sure of me and could afford to be indulgent. it was already above my waist and my knowledge of the coast told me that when it reached the flood it would be ten feet deep at the place where i stood. "i looked wildly around, in the hope of seeing some one on the shore. but it was absolutely deserted. a little while before, i had been gloating over the fact that i was alone and could have a monopoly of the hunting. now i would have given all i had in the world for the sight of a human face. i shouted until i was hoarse, but no one came. far out at sea, i could glimpse dimly the sails of a vessel. i waved my free hand desperately, but i knew at the time that it was futile. i was a mere speck to any one on board, and even if they trained strong glasses on me they would have thought it nothing but the frolicsome antics of a bather. "now the water was up to my armpits. the thought came to me that if i should keep perfectly quiet, the abalone might think his danger gone and loosen his grip. but, though i nearly went crazy with the terrible strain of keeping still, when every impulse was to leap and yell, the cunning creature never relaxed that murderous clutch. "then i lost all control of myself. it wasn't the thought of death itself. i could, i think, have steeled myself to that. but it was the horrible mode of death. to be young and strong and twenty, and to die there, slowly and inexorably, while six feet away was a certain means of rescue! "the water had reached my neck. my overstrung nerves gave way. i tugged wildly at my bleeding hand. i raved and wept. i think i must have grown delirious. i dimly remember babbling to the iron bar that i could see lying there so serenely in the transparent water. i coaxed it, wheedled it, cajoled it, begged it to come to me, and, when it refused, i cursed it. the waves were breaking over me and i was choking. the spray was in my eyes and ears. i thought i heard a shouting, the sound of oars. then a great blackness settled down upon me and i knew nothing more. "when next i came to consciousness, i was in a hospital, where i had been for two months with brain fever. they had had to take off two fingers, and barely saved the rest of the hand. they wouldn't let me see a mirror until they had prepared me for the change in my appearance. "i learned then the story of my rescue. a party had come around a bend of the shore when i was at my last gasp. they caught sight of my hand just above the water. they made for me at once and tried to pull me into the boat. then they saw my plight, and, with a marlinspike, pried the abalone loose. they tell me that my bleeding fingers had stiffened around the pearl, and they could scarcely get it away from me. they asked me afterward if i cared to see it, but i hated it so bitterly that i refused to look at it. it had been bought at too high a price. "and now," he concluded, "do you wonder that i dread that sleek and crawling monster that i call the sea?" bert drew a long breath. "no," he said, and there was a world of sympathy and understanding in his tone, "i don't." chapter xvi desperate chances bert's stay at the pleasant seaside hotel was limited to a few hours only, but he gained incalculable refreshment from the short rest. it was with regret that he could not spend more time there that he took leave of the proprietor, and repaired to the motorcycle store where he had left the "blue streak" to have some very necessary work done on it. the engine had not been overhauled since starting from new york, and the cylinders were badly incrusted with carbon. he had left directions for this to be scraped out, and when he reached the shop expected to find his machine waiting for him in first-class condition. what was his chagrin therefore, when, on entering the place, the first thing he saw was the "blue streak" in a dismantled condition, parts of it strewn all over the floor. he hunted up the proprietor, and indignantly asked him why the machine was not ready according to promise. "i'm very sorry," the man told him, "but as one of the mechanics was scraping the front cylinder it dropped on the floor, and when he picked it up he found it was split. so we can't do anything with the machine until we get a new cylinder." "but haven't you got a machine in the place you could take a cylinder from, and put it on my machine?" asked bert. "i can't afford to be held up here for a day while you send away for a new part." "there isn't a machine in the place that would have a cylinder to fit yours," said the proprietor; "if it had been a rear cylinder, it would have been easy enough to give you another, because we could take one off a one-cylinder machine that would fit. but, as it happens, i haven't a twin cylinder machine in the place." "but how long will it take to get the new one here?" asked bert. "about half a day, i should say," replied the other. "half a day!" echoed bert, and his heart sank. "why, if i lose that much time here it probably means that i'll lose the race. do you realize that?" "i don't see what we can do about it," replied the proprietor, shrugging his shoulders. "i'll get the cylinder for you the first minute i can, but that's the best i can do." bert saw that there was no use arguing the matter. he walked out of the place without another word, but with a great bitterness in his heart. all his days of heartbreaking riding--the hardships he had undergone--the obstacles he had faced and overcome--all these things were in a fair way of being set at nought because of the carelessness of a stupid mechanician. the thought almost drove him frantic, and he hurried along the pavement, scarcely noticing where he was going. at last he collected his thoughts somewhat and pulled himself together. looking about him, he saw that he was not far from the postoffice, and it occurred to him that there might be a letter for him from tom or dick. with this thought in mind he entered the postoffice, in one corner of which there was also a telegraph station. walking up to the window, he inquired if there was any mail for bert wilson. "no," said the functionary behind the grating, "but there's a telegram just come in for a party of that name. bill!" he called, to the telegraph operator, "here's mr. wilson now, him that you just got the telegram for." "oh, all right," replied the operator, "here you are, sir. i was just going to send it up to your hotel." "much obliged," said bert, and tore open the yellow envelope. "ride fast," it read, "have just heard hayward is within three hundred miles of san francisco. hurry." the slip of yellow paper dropped from bert's nerveless fingers. three hundred miles away. why, bert was as far from san francisco as that himself, with mountainous roads still before him, and his machine out of commission! if he could only do something, anything, that would be a relief. but he was absolutely helpless in the grasp of an unforeseen calamity, and all he could do was to pray desperately for the speedy arrival of the new cylinder. he hastened back to the repair shop, and found that in his absence everything, with, of course, the exception of the front cylinder, had been put together. "we've done all we can," the proprietor assured him. "a few minutes ago i called up the agents in clyde and they said that their man was on the way with it. so it ought to get here early this afternoon." "well," declared bert grimly, "i'm not going to stir out of this place till it does come, let me tell you." he waited with what patience he could muster, and at last, a little before two o'clock, the long-awaited cylinder arrived. with feverish haste bert fastened it to the motor base himself, too impatient to let anybody else do it. besides, he was resolved to take no chances of having _this_ cylinder damaged. ten minutes later the last nut had been tightened, and the "blue streak" was wheeled out into the street. now that the heartbreaking waiting was over, bert felt capable of anything. as he vaulted into the saddle, he made a compact with himself. "if my machine holds out," he resolved, "i will not sleep again until i reach san francisco;" and when bert made a resolution, he kept it. he scorched through the streets of the town regardless, for the time being, of local speed ordinances. in a few minutes he was out on the open road, and then,--well, the "blue streak" justified all the encomiums he had ever heaped upon it. up hill and down he sped, riding low over the handlebars, man and machine one flying, space-devouring unit. the day drew into dusk, dusk changed to darkness, and bert dismounted long enough to light his lamp and was off again, streaking over the smooth road like a flying comet. at times he slowed down as he approached curves, but was off again like the wind when he had rounded them. sometimes steep hills confronted him, but the speeding motorcycle took them by storm, and topped their summits almost before gravity could act to slacken his headlong speed. then the descent on the other side would be a wild, dizzy rush, when at time the speedometer needle reached the ninety mark. but the country became more mountainous after a while, and bert encountered hills that even the "blue streak" was forced to negotiate on low speed. this ate up gasoline, and about midnight bert, on stopping a moment to examine his fuel supply, found that it was almost exhausted. fortunately, however, about a mile further on he reached a wayside garage. he knocked repeatedly, but received no answer. "just the same, i've got to have gasoline," thought bert, and acted accordingly. with a screwdriver he pried open a window, and, filling a can from a barrel, returned to his machine and filled the tank. then he replaced the can, and left the price of the gasoline in a prominent place. "needs must when the devil drives," he thought, "and i simply had to have that juice." and now he was once more flying through the night, the brilliant rays from his lamp dancing and flickering on the road ahead, and at times striking prismatic colors from rocky walls as the road passed through some cut. mile after mile passed back under the flying rider and machine, but still they kept on with no sign of slackening. gradually dawn broke, misty and gray at first, but then brightening and expanding until the glorious light of full day bathed the hills in splendor. and then, as bert looked up and around, slowing down so that he could the better drink in the glorious scene, he beheld, at a great distance, the roofs and towers of a great city, and knew that it was san francisco, the golden city of the west. sixteen days since he left new york and the goal toward which he had struggled so bravely was at hand! but even now there was no time to be lost. at this moment, hayward might also be approaching the city, and bert was too wise to risk failure now with the prize so nearly within his grasp. he started on again, his mind in a whirl, and all thought of fatigue and exhaustion banished. the road was bordered by signs indicating the right direction, and in less than an hour bert was riding through the suburbs of san francisco. bert's entrance into the city was signalized by a display of the wildest enthusiasm on the part of a big crowd that had turned out to meet the winner. the details of the thrilling transcontinental race in which he had been engaged had received their due share of space in the big dailies, and his adventures and those of the other contestants had been closely followed by every one possessing a drop of red blood in his veins. bert was totally unprepared for such a reception, however, and it took him by surprise. he had been through many adventures and had encountered many obstacles, but had pulled through by dint of indomitable will and pluck. but, as he afterward confessed to tom and dick, he now felt for the first time like running away. but he soon abandoned this idea, and chugged slowly along until at last he was forced by the press of people about him to stop. when he dismounted he was deluged by a flood of congratulations and good wishes, and was besieged by a small army of newspaper men, each anxious to get bert's own account of the race. it was some time before he could proceed, but at last he started on, surrounded by a contingent of motorcycles, ridden by members of local clubs. they went slowly along, until in due time they reached the city hall. bert was ushered into the presence of the mayor, who received him with great cordiality, and after a few words read the letters bert handed him. "well, mr. wilson," he said, when he had mastered their contents, "i am certainly glad to know you, and i only wish you were a native of this state. we need a few more young men of your sort." "i'm much obliged for your good opinion, your honor, i'm sure," replied bert, and after answering many questions regarding his trip, took his departure. returning to the street, he mounted his machine, and, still accompanied by the friendly motorcyclists, proceeded to the hotel at which he had arranged to stop during his stay in san francisco. of course, tom and dick were there to meet him, and hearty were the greetings the three comrades exchanged. "it hardly seems possible that i've won at last," said bert. "i wasn't sure that hayward hadn't beaten me in, until i heard the crowds cheering." "oh, you won, all right," dick assured him, "but you didn't have much time to spare. i just heard somebody say that hayward got in not five minutes ago. i'll bet he nearly went crazy when he heard that you'd beaten him in spite of his crooked work." "well, when i learned what kind of a fellow he was, i just _had_ to beat him," said bert, with a smile. dick and tom took charge of his machine, and stored it safely in the local agency, where it was immediately hoisted into the show window and excited much attention. by the time they returned to the hotel, bert had answered the questions of a number of newspaper men, taken a much-needed bath, and dressed. in his well-fitting clothes, that set off his manly figure, he looked a very different person from the dusty, travel-stained young fellow he had been but a short time before, and he was delighted to feel that for a little while he was "out of uniform." but tom and dick immediately collared him, and, as he professed himself "fresh as a daisy," took him out to see some of the town. they had not gone far before they were recognized by one of the riders who had formed bert's "bodyguard" during his ride to the mayor's office. he introduced himself as john meyers. nothing less than their immediately paying a visit to his club would satisfy him, they found, so at last they gave in and told him to "lead on." the other laughingly complied. "it isn't far from here," he assured them, "and if you like our looks we'll be glad to have you stay to dinner. after that, if you're not too fagged, a few of us will be glad to take you around and show you the sights. we're all proud of it, and we want visitors to see it." "that programme listens good," replied bert, "and we're 'on,' as far as the dinner goes. after that, though, i think i'll be about ready to turn in. i was riding all last night, and i feel like sleeping without interruption for the next week." "well, that's just as you say," agreed meyers, "but here we are now. pretty nifty building, don't you think?" it was indeed a handsome house into which he presently ushered them, and they soon saw that its interior did not belie its outward appearance. the rooms were large, and furnished comfortably and in good taste. in the front room several fine looking young fellows were engaged in a laughing conversation. they broke off when they caught sight of meyers and the three strangers with him. introductions were soon made, and the three comrades found themselves made thoroughly at home. of course, the chief topic of conversation was bert's journey, and he answered questions until he was tired. "here, fellows," said meyers, perceiving this, "i think we've cross-examined wilson enough for the present. anyway, dinner's ready, and we'll see if you can eat as well as you can ride." "lead me to it," exclaimed bert, "i'm as hungry as a wolf." they were soon seated around a table on which was set forth a substantial meal, and it is almost needless to say that they all did it ample justice. during the meal the chief topic of discussion, next to bert's record-breaking feat, was the forthcoming race at the big saucer track, in which riders from all over the world were to compete. bert listened with great attention, for it was of the most vital importance to him to know as much as possible of the track on which he was scheduled to pit his skill and courage against the best and most experienced motorcyclists of the globe. of course, he would be given ample time to practice and learn the tricks of the big saucer for himself, but his experience of life so far had taught him not to neglect even the slightest bit of knowledge that might make for success. in due course of time the meal was despatched, and they returned to the lounging room. a couple of pleasant hours were spent in conversation and joking, and swapping tales of eventful rides under every conceivable condition of sunshine and storm. at last bert rose, and said, "well, boys, i've certainly enjoyed my visit, but i'm afraid i'll have to make a break"--consulting his watch. "i've had a mighty hard time of it lately, and i'm about all in." he shook hands all around, and with many expressions of friendship from the club members and amid hearty invitations to call again, bert and his companions took their departure. "i suppose you'll begin practicing at the track pretty soon now, won't you, bert?" asked tom, as they turned their steps toward the hotel. "you suppose right, old timer," said bert, slapping him affectionately on the shoulder, "to-morrow, or maybe the day after, i'll get down to business. i want to know that track as well as i know the back yard at home before the day of the race." "you can't know too much about it, that's certain," said dick, soberly. "you haven't had much practice in that sort of racing, bert, and i'm almost afraid to have you try it." "nonsense," laughed bert, "why, i'll be safer there than i would be dodging autos on broadway, back in little old new york. don't worry about me. i'll put the jody sign on all of them, provided, of course, that my machine doesn't take it into its head,--or into its gasoline tank--to blow up, or something else along the same line." "heaven forbid," ejaculated dick, piously, "but i guess we'd better change the subject. it isn't a very cheerful one at best." "you're right, it isn't," agreed bert, "but those club fellows gave me some good tips regarding the track. they seem to know what they're talking about." "they're a great crowd," said tom, enthusiastically, "and they know how to do things up right, too. they certainly gave us a fine dinner." "no doubt about it," concurred bert, "but it's made me feel mighty sleepy. i haven't slept in so long that i'm afraid i've forgotten how." "well, here we are at the hotel, anyway," laughed dick, "so you'll soon have the chance to find out." after a little more conversation they parted and went to their rooms. the last thing bert heard as he dropped off to sleep was the strident cry of a newsboy. "wuxtra! wuxtra! all about wilson winning the transcontinental race. wuxtra! wuxtra!" chapter xvii the wonderful city "and now for the exposition," cried bert, as after a solid sleep and an equally solid breakfast they reached their rooms and looked out over the city glittering in the morning sun. "for your exposition," corrected tom. "yes," he went on, as he noted bert's look of surprise, "that's exactly what i mean. for if it hadn't been for you, when you discovered the plot to blow up the panama canal, there would have been no exposition at all, or, at any rate, a very different one from this. the bands would have been playing the 'dead march in saul,' instead of 'hail columbia' and the 'star-spangled banner.'" nor was tom far from the truth. before the minds of the boys came up that night in panama, when bert, crouching low beneath the window of the japanese conspirators, had overheard the plot to destroy the great canal. they saw again the struggle in the library; the fight for life in the sinking boat in the caribbean sea; the rescue by the submarine and the cutting of the wires that led to the mined gate of the gatun locks. had it not been for bert's quick wit and audacity, the carefully-planned plot of the japanese government to keep the larger part of the american fleet on the atlantic side, while they themselves made a dash for the pacific slope, might easily have succeeded, and, at the very moment the boys were speaking, the whole country west of the rocky mountains might have been fast in the grip of the japanese armies. but the discovery of the plot had been its undoing. the matter had been hushed up for official reasons, and only a very few knew how nearly the two nations had been locked in a life and death struggle for the control of the western ocean. and now the peril was over. never again would the united states be caught napping. war indeed might come--it probably would, some time--but america's control of the coast was assured. at colon on the atlantic side and panama at the pacific end, impregnable forts and artillery bade defiance to all the fleets of east or west. great navies on either side would be kept in easy reach in case of attack, and the combined land and sea forces would be invincible against any combination likely to be brought against them. and it was this great achievement of american enterprise--the opening of the canal--that the exposition, now in full swing, was intended to celebrate. its official designation was the "panama-pacific international exposition." and it was fitting that it should be held at san francisco, the queen city of the west, because it was of preã«minent importance to the pacific slope. for this silver strip of water, fifty miles long, that stretched between the atlantic and pacific, brought the west nine thousand miles nearer to europe by water than it had been before. the long journey round the horn, fraught with danger and taking months of time, would henceforth be unnecessary. it gave an all-water route that saved enormously in freights, and enabled shipments to be made without breaking bulk. it diverted a vast amount of traffic that had hitherto gone through the suez canal. it gave a tremendous impetus to the american merchant marine and challenged the right of great britain longer to "rule the waves." and, by enabling the entire naval strength of the country to be assembled quickly in case of need, it assured the west against the "yellow peril" that loomed up on the other side of the sea. but, above and apart from the local interests involved, was the patriotic rejoicing in which all the nation shared. the american eagle felt that it had a right to scream over the great achievement. for great it certainly was--one of the most marvelous in the history of the world. the dream of four hundred years had become a realized fact. others had tried and failed. france with her scientific genius and unlimited resources had thrown up her hands in despair. then america had taken it up and carried it through to a glorious conclusion. four hundred millions of dollars had been expended on the colossal work. but this was not the most important item. what the country was proud of was the pluck, the ingenuity, the determination, that in the face of all kinds of dangers--dangers of flood, of pestilence, of earthquakes, of avalanche--had met them all in a way to win the plaudits of mankind. in the case of the boys, this pride was, of course, intensified by the fact that they had visited the country and seen its wonders at first hand. from colon to panama, from the gatun dam to the miraflores locks, they had gone over every foot of ground and water. its gates, its cuts, its spillways, its tractions--all of these had grown familiar by actual inspection. add to this the exulting consciousness that they had been concerned in its salvation, when threatened by their country's foes, and it can readily be imagined how eager they were to see all the wonders of the exposition that was to celebrate its completion. "it's got to be a pretty big thing to satisfy my expectations," said dick, as they neared the grounds. "well," remarked bert, "i've never seen a world's fair, but, from what i've heard, this goes ahead of all of them. even the chicago fair, they say, can't hold a candle to it. a fellow was telling me----" but just then, as they turned a curve, they came in full view of the grounds, and stopped short with a gasp of admiration. it was a magnificent picture--a splendid gem, with the california land and sky as its setting. a glorious city had sprung up as though by the waving of an enchanter's wand. on every side rose towers, spires, minarets and golden domes. the prosaic, every-day world had vanished, and, in its place had come a dream city such as might have been inspired by the pages of the "arabian nights." it almost seemed as though a caravan laden with silks and spices of the east might be expected at any moment to thread the courts and colonnades, or a regiment of janissaries, with folded fez and waving scimitars, spur their horses along the road. the very names of the buildings were redolent of romance. there was the "court of the four seasons," the "court of the sun and stars," the "tower of jewels" and the "hall of abundance." and the illusion was heightened by the glorious sunshine and balmy air that makes san francisco the paradise of the western continent. the exposition grounds, covering a vast extent of space, had been chosen with marvelous taste and judgment and a keen eye for the picturesque. the finest talent to be found anywhere had been expended on the location, the approaches and the grouping of the buildings, so as to form a harmonious combination of grace and fitness and beauty. it was a triumph of architecture and landscape gardening. nature and art had been wedded and the result was bewildering and overpowering. it had never been approached by any exposition in the world's history. the site was a level space surrounded on east, west and south by sloping hills. standing on these heights, one looked down as upon a vast amphitheater. on the north it faced the waters of san francisco bay, the waves gleaming in the sun and the sea lions playing about the rocks of the golden gate. across the bay could be seen towering mountains, their summits alternately shrouded in a tenuous haze and glistening in golden glory. on the harbor side was an esplanade, eighteen hundred feet long and three hundred feet wide, adorned with marble statues and gorgeous foliage and plashing fountains. opening directly from this was the main group of palaces--fitly so called--devoted to the more important objects of the fair. these were clustered about the great court of the sun and stars. around the court stood over one hundred pillars, each surmounted by a colossal figure representing some particular star. upon a huge column stood a globe, symbol of the sun, and about the column itself was a spiral ascent, typifying the climbing hopes and aspirations of the human race. nearby rose the splendid tower of jewels, four hundred and fifty feet in height, its blazing dome reflecting back the rays of the sun, while jewels set in the walls--agate, beryl, garnet and chrysolite--bathed the interior in luminous splendor. the court of the four seasons was designed to show the conquest of man over the forces of nature. the hall of abundance overflowed with the rich products brought from the four corners of the earth. the east and west were typified by two groups, one showing the customs of the orient and the other exhibiting the progress made by western civilization. between them stood a prairie schooner, emblem of the resistless tide of immigration toward the setting sun. "westward the course of empire takes its way, the first four acts already past; a fifth shall close the drama and the day, time's noblest offspring is its last," murmured dick, yielding to his chronic habit of quotation. besides the central group of palaces devoted to machinery, invention, transportation and the fine arts, there were two other sections. one held the buildings of the various states and the official headquarters of foreign nations. the other was given over to the amusement concessions, consisting of hundreds of pavilions that catered to the pleasures of the visitors. then, too, there was a great arena for open air sports and competitions. scattered everywhere were sunken lakes and rippling cascades and verdant terraces, so arranged that at every turn the eye was charmed by some new delight. but the transcendent beauty of the fair when viewed by day yielded the palm to the glory of the night. as the dusk fell, thousands upon thousands of lights, like so many twinkling jewels, sprang into being. the splendor flashed on tree and building, spire and minaret, arch and dome, until the whole vast exposition became a crystal dream. great searchlights from the bay played on jets of steam rising high in the sky, in a perfect riot of changing color. the lagoons and fountains and cascades sent back the shimmering reflections multiplied a thousand fold. and beneath the witchery of those changing lights, one might well imagine himself transported to some realm of mystery and romance a thousand leagues from the western hemisphere and the twentieth century. but, although the boys felt and yielded to the potent spell that the exposition cast on those that came within its gates, they none the less devoted themselves to the wonders shown in the great buildings set apart for machinery and inventions. all of them were planning their life work on scientific and engineering lines, and they were keen for the new discoveries and appliances that were seen on every hand in almost endless profusion. wireless telegraphy, aeroplanes, submarine and motor engines--these were the magnets that drew them irresistibly. although they had prided themselves on keeping pretty well up to date along these lines, they were astonished to see how many things came to them now with the force of a revelation. before the models of the submarines they stood for a long time, as they took in every detail of the plan and construction. and with bert's admiration was mingled a sense of gratitude. one of these it was that had picked him up when he was battling with the waves and hope had almost vanished. even now, he could see the saucy little vessel as it poked its nose into the entrance of the canal and darted here and there like a ferret, sniffing the danger that it came just in time to prevent. he remembered the fascination of that memorable trip, as he stood at the porthole and saw the wonders of the sea, illumined by its powerful searchlight. but that had simply whetted his appetite, and he was hungry for further experiences. somewhere among his ancestors there must have been viking blood, and the haunting mystery of the sea had always called to him. "some day, perhaps"--he thought to himself, and then as he saw the amused expression on his companions' faces, he realized that he had spoken out loud. "what's the matter, alexander?" chaffed tom. "weeping for more worlds to conquer?" "he isn't satisfied with the victories won on the earth," mocked dick. "he wants the sea, too. you're a glutton for adventure, bert." "yes," laughed tom, "he won't be happy till he gets it." "oh, cut it out," retorted bert, a little sheepishly. "since when did you fellows set up to be mind readers?" but they _were_ mind readers and prophets, too, though none of them knew it at the time. "there's still one other field to be explored," went on dick, teasingly, "and that's the air." "well," remarked tom, "if bert's going to try that, too, he'd better get busy pretty soon. they're going ahead so fast there, that before long there won't be anything new left to do. when fellows can turn somersaults in the air and fly along on their backs, like that frenchman, peguod, they're certainly getting a strangle hold on old mother nature. the way things are moving now, a man will soon be as safe in an airship as a baby in his cradle. look at this bleriot monoplane;" and they were soon plunged deep in the study of the various types of flying craft. in another department, one thing gave bert unlimited satisfaction. among all the motorcycles, native and foreign, before which he lingered longer than anywhere else, he saw nothing that excelled his own. his heart swelled with pride and confidence, as he realized that none of his competitors in the coming struggle would have a better machine beneath him than the "blue streak." he could drop any worry on that score. if he failed to come in first, he himself must shoulder the blame. and when at last, tired but happy, they turned their backs on the dazzling scene and were on their way back to the hotel, their talk naturally fell on the topic that was uppermost in their minds. "how are you feeling, bert?" asked tom. "are you fit?" "i feel like a two-year-old," was the answer. "i'm hard as nails and right at the top of my form. i'll have no excuses to offer." "you won't need any," said dick confidently. "leave those to the losers." "one never can tell," mused bert. "there are some crack riders in that bunch. but i'm going to do my level best, not only for my own sake, but so that the foreigners can't crow over us. i'd hate to see america lose." "she can't," asserted tom. "not on the fourth of july!" chapter xviii a winning fight the big motordome was gayly decorated with flags and bunting, in honor of the fourth, and there was just enough breeze stirring to give them motion. a big military band played patriotic and popular airs, and, as the spectators filed into their seats in a never-ending procession, they felt already the first stirrings of an excitement that was to make of this a night to be remembered throughout a lifetime. an hour before the time scheduled for the race to begin every seat in grandstand and bleachers was taken, and people were fighting for a place in the grassy infield. very soon, even that was packed with as many spectators as the managers felt could be disposed of with safety. they were kept within bounds by a stout rope fence stretched between posts. at last every available foot of space was occupied, and the gates were closed. thousands were turned away even then, although there were over sixty thousand souls within the stadium. the motordome had been constructed to hold an immense crowd, but its designers had never anticipated anything like this. so great was the interest in the event, that most of those who could not gain admittance camped down near the gates to get bulletins of the progress of the race, as soon as possible. it was an ideal night for such an event. the air was soft and charged with a thousand balmy odors. the band crashed out its stirring music, and made the blood of the most sluggish leap and glow. suddenly the arc lights suspended at short intervals over the track blazed out, making the whole place as light as day. then, as every detail of the track was plainly revealed, thousands drew a deep breath and shuddered. the track was banked at an angle of approximately thirty-eight degrees, with three laps to the mile. it seemed impossible to many that anything on wheels could cling to the precipitous slope, that appeared to offer insecure footing even for a fly. near the bottom, a white band was painted around the entire circumference, marking the actual one-third of a mile. at the bottom of the track there was a level stretch, perhaps four feet wide, and beyond that the smooth turf, bordered at a little distance by a dense mass of spectators confined within the rope fence. above the track tier after tier of seats arose. opposite the finish line, the starter's and judge's pavilion was built. here all the riders and machines that were to take part were assembled, and it presented a scene of the utmost bustle and activity. tom and dick were there, anxiously waiting for bert to emerge from his dressing room, and meanwhile inspecting every nut and bolt on the "blue streak." despite the recent changes made in it, the faithful motorcycle was still the same staunch, dependable machine it had always been, but with even greater speed capabilities than it had possessed before. of course, there were many who claimed that bert could never have a chance of winning without a specially built racer, and he had been urged a score of times to use such a mount. but he had refused without the slightest hesitation. "why," he always said, "i know what the old 'blue streak' will do, just as well as i know what i am capable of. i know every whim and humor of it, and just how to get the last ounce of power out of it. i've tested it a thousand times. i know it will stand up to any work i put it to, and i'd no more think of changing machines now than i would of trying a new system of training two days before i was to enter a running race. no, thanks, i guess i'll stick to the old 'blue streak.'" dick and tom were still busy with oil can and wrench when bert emerged from his dressing-room. he was dressed in a blue jersey, with an american flag embroidered on breast and back. his head was encased in a thick leather helmet, and a pair of heavy-glassed goggles were pushed up on his forehead. he strode quickly over to where his chums were working on his mount, and they shook hands heartily. "well!" he exclaimed gaily, "how is the old 'bus' to-night? everything o.k., i hope?" "it sure is," replied dick. "tom and i have gone over every inch of it, and it seems in apple-pie order. we filled your oil tank up with oil that we tested ourselves, and we know that it's all right. we're not taking any chances." "that's fine," exclaimed bert, "there's nothing more important than good oil. we don't want any frozen bearings to-night, of all nights." "not much!" agreed tom, "but it must be pretty nearly time for the start. it's after eight now." even as he spoke, a gong tapped, and a deep silence descended on the stadium. excitement, tense and breathless, gripped every heart. a burly figure carrying a megaphone mounted a small platform erected in the center of the field, and in stentorian tones announced the conditions of the race. seven riders, representing america, france, england, italy, and belgium, were to compete for a distance of one hundred miles. the race was to begin from a flying start, which was to be announced by the report of a pistol. the time of each race was to be shown by an illuminated clock near the judge's stand. the man with the megaphone had hardly ceased speaking when the roar of several motorcycle exhausts broke forth from the starting platform and the band crashed into a stirring march. then a motorcycle appeared, towing a racer. slowly it gathered headway, and at last the rider of the racing machine threw in the spark. the motor coughed once or twice, and then took hold. with a mighty roar his machine shot ahead, gathering speed with every revolution, and passing the towing motorcycle as though it were standing still. in quick succession now, machine after machine appeared. it was bert's turn to start, and, pulling his goggles down over his eyes, he leaped astride the waiting "blue streak." "go it, old man!" shouted dick and tom, each giving him a resounding buffet on the shoulder, "show 'em what you're made of." "leave it to me," yelled bert, for already the towing motorcycle was towing him and the "blue streak" out onto the track. they went at a snail's pace at first, but quickly gathered momentum. as he came into view of the gathered multitude, a shout went up that made the concrete structure tremble. this was repeated twice and then the spectators settled back, waiting for the start. when he felt he was going fast enough, bert, by a twist of the right grip, lowered the exhaust valves, and the next second he felt the old "blue streak" surge forward as though discharged from a cannon. it required a speed of fifty miles an hour even to mount the embankment, but before he had gone two hundred yards he had attained it. he turned the front wheel to the slope, and his machine mounted it like a bird. never had he sensed such gigantic power under him, and he felt exalted to the skies. he forgot everything in the mad delirium of speed; tremendous, maddening speed. every time he opened the throttle a trifle more he could feel it increase. eagerly, resistlessly, his mount tore and raged forward, whistling through the air with the speed of an arrow. in a few seconds he was abreast of the riders who had started first, and who were jockeying for a good position. there was little time for manoeuvring, however, for now the riders were fairly well bunched, and the starter's pistol cracked. the race had started! and now bert found himself competing with the crack racers of the world. each was mounted on the best machine the genius of his countrymen could produce, and each was grimly resolved to win. the "blue streak" and its rider were indeed in fast company, and were destined to be put to a test such as seldom occurs in even such strenuous racing as this. bert was riding high on the track at the start, and he resolved to make use of this position to gain the lead. he opened the throttle wide, and the "blue streak" responded nobly. so great was the force of the forward spurt that his hands were almost wrenched from the handlebars. he held on, however, and at the end of the second lap was even with the leader, a frenchman. bert turned his front wheel down the slope, and swooped toward the bottom of the track with a sickening lurch. a vast sigh of horror went up from the closely packed stands. but at the last second, when within a foot of the bottom of the incline, bert started up again, and with a speed increased by the downward rush shot up to the white band. he hugged this closely, and reeled off mile after mile at a speed of close to a hundred miles an hour. leaning down until his body touched the top frame bar, he coaxed ever a little more speed from the fire-spitting mechanism beneath him. but the frenchman hung on doggedly, not ten feet behind, and a few feet further back the english entrant tore along. in this order they passed the fifty-mile mark, and the spectators were standing now, yelling and shouting. the rest of the field had been unable to hold the terrific pace, and had dropped behind. the belgian entrant had been forced to drop out altogether, on account of engine trouble. the leaders swept on and gradually drew up on the three lagging riders. a quarter of a lap--half a lap--three-quarters of a lap--and amid a deafening roar of shouting from the spectators bert swept past them. he had gained a lap on them! the english and french entries were still close up, however, both hanging on within three yards of bert's rear wheel. they reeled off mile after mile, hardly changing their positions by a foot. suddenly there was a loud report that sounded even above the roar of the exhausts, and a second later bert fell to the rear. his front tire had punctured, and it was only by the exercise of all his skill and strength that he had averted a horrible accident. "it's all over. it's all over," groaned tom. "he's out of the race now. he hasn't got a chance." dick said nothing, but his face was the color of chalk. he dashed for the supply tent, and emerged carrying a front wheel with an inflated tire already on it, just as bert pulled up in front of them and leaped from his mount. his eyes were sunken, with dark rings under them, but his mouth was set and stern as death. "on with it, dick, on with it," he said, in a low, suppressed voice. "let's have that wrench, tom. hold up the front fork, will you?" he worked frantically, and in less than forty seconds had substituted the new wheel carrying the inflated tire in place of the old. flinging down the wrench, he sprang into the saddle, and with willing strength dick and tom rushed him and his machine out onto the track, pushing with all the might of their sinewy young bodies. at the first possible moment bert shot on the power, and the engine, still hot, started instantly. in a second he was off in wild pursuit of the flying leaders. as he mounted the track, he was seen to lean down and fumble with the air shutter on the carburetor. apparently this had little effect, but to bert it made all the difference in the world. the motor had had tremendous strength before, but now it seemed almost doubled. the whole machine quivered and shook under the mighty impact of the pistons, and the hum of the flywheels rose to a high whine. violet flames shot from the exhaust in an endless stream. the track streamed back from the whirling wheels like a rushing river. it seemed to be leaping eagerly to meet him. the lights and shadows flickered away from him, and the grotesque shadow cast by his machine weaved rapidly back and forth as he passed under the sizzling arc lights. the spectators were a yelling mob of temporary maniacs by this time. the frenchman and englishman had passed the eighty-mile mark, and bert was still a lap and a half behind. he was riding like a fiend, coaxing, nursing his machine, manipulating the controls so as to wring the last ounce of energy from the tortured mass of metal he bestrode. slowly, but with deadly persistence, he closed the gap between him and the leaders. amidst a veritable pandemonium from the crazed spectators he passed them, but still had one lap to make up in fifteen miles. shortly after passing them, he was close on the three remaining competitors, who were hanging on in the desperate hope of winning should some accident befall the leaders. suddenly, without any warning, something--nobody ever learned what--went wrong. they became a confused, tangled mass of blazing machine and crumpled humanity. bert was not twenty feet behind them, and men turned white and sick and women fainted. it seemed inevitable that he would plow into them traveling at that terrific pace, and add one more life to the toll of the disaster. bert's mind acted like a flash. he was far down on the track, and could not possibly gain a position above the wreckage, and so skirt it in that way. nor did he have time to pass beneath it, for men and machines were sliding diagonally down the steep embankment. with a muttered prayer, he accepted the last chance fate had seen fit to leave him. he shot off the track completely, and whirled his machine onto the turf skirting it. the grass was smooth, but, at bert's tremendous speed, small obstacles seemed like mountains. the "blue streak" quivered and bounded, at times leaping clear off the ground, as it struck some uneven place. for what seemed an age, but was in reality only a few seconds, bert kept on this, and then steered for the track again. if his machine mounted the little ridge formed by the beginning of the track proper, all might yet be well, if not--well, he refused to even think of that. the front wheel hit the obstruction, and, a fraction of a second later, the rear wheel struck. the machine leaped clear into the air, sideways. bert stiffened the muscles of his wrists until they were as hard as steel, to withstand the shock of landing. the handlebars were almost wrenched from his control, but not quite, and once more he was tearing around with scarcely diminished speed. by great good fortune, the riders involved in the accident had not been hurt seriously, although their machines were total wrecks, and they hobbled painfully toward the hospital tent, assisted by spectators who had rushed to their aid. bert was now less than half a lap behind the flying leaders, but he had only four miles in which to make it up. at intervals now he leaned down and pumped extra oil into the engine. this added a trifle of extra power, and as he rushed madly along the "blue streak" lived up to its name nobly. at the beginning of the last mile he was only about three lengths behind. the vast crowd was on its feet now, shouting, yelling, tossing hats, gesticulating. they were worked up to a pitch of frenzy absolutely indescribable. as bert crept grimly up, nearer and nearer, the place became a veritable bedlam. now the racers had entered the last lap; only a third of a mile to go, and bert was still a length behind. the exhaust of the racing motorcycles united in one hoarse, bellowing roar, that seemed to shake the very earth. then--bert reached down, and with the finish line but a short hundred yards ahead, opened wide the air shutter on the carburetor. his machine seemed to almost leave the track, and then, tearing forward, passed the frenchman, who was leading. as he crossed the finish line, bert was ahead by the length of a wheel! the uproar that burst forth then defied all description. as bert, after making a circuit of the track, finally brought the "blue streak" to a standstill, a seething mob rushed toward him, waving hats and flags, and shouting frantically and joyfully. bert had no mind to get in their well-meaning clutches, however, so he and his two friends made a rush for his dressing room, and reached it safely. the crowd, being unable to locate its hero, and too excited to make a methodical search for him, worked off its exuberance by much shouting and shaking of hands between perfect strangers, and gradually dispersed. meanwhile tom and dick, with strong emotion that they made no effort to conceal, wrung his hand again and again. "you rode the greatest motorcycle race this old world ever saw, old friend," said dick at last, "but tom and i are never going to let you go in another. the world would be too empty for us without you." * * * * * in the sheaf of telegrams of congratulations handed to bert next morning was one from reddy. it was characteristic: "shamrock. glory be. i knew you'd put it over. keep in good shape for football." "he talks as if i were already on the team," commented bert; "i may not make it, after all." "swell chance of your missing it," scoffed tom. "everybody knows you're slated for full-back." to another message, drake's name was signed: "hurrah for the blue. be back for football in the fall." "a decided football flavor in your telegrams to-day," grinned dick. "well," said bert, "win or lose, i'll be there with both feet." "you'd better have both of them with you, for a fact," drawled tom. "you couldn't do much without them." and when a few months later, the football season opened, bert's promise was fulfilled. how swift those feet of his proved to be in getting down the field, how mighty in kicking a goal, how powerful in every stirring feature of the glorious game, will be told in "bert wilson on the gridiron." * * * * * transcriber's note: --text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). --punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were corrected without comment. --variations of blue streak were made consistent ('blue streak' within quoted speech and "blue streak" in all other cases). --archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. --variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 30969-h.htm or 30969-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30969/30969-h/30969-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30969/30969-h.zip) the big five motorcycle boys on the battle line or with the allies in france by ralph marlow author of "the big five motorcycle boys under fire," "the big five motorcycle boys at the front," "the big five motorcycle boys' swift road chase," "the big five motorcycle boys in tennessee wilds," "the big five motorcycle boys through by wireless," "the big five motorcycle boys on florida trails." a. l. burt company new york. copyright, 1916 by a. l. burt company the big five motorcycle boys on the battle line [illustration: there was a sudden spiteful crack from the rear, and josh ducked his head involuntarily. the big five motorcycle boys on the battle line. page 35.] the big five motorcycle boys on the battle line. chapter i. on the streets of antwerp. "good-bye, elmer, and you, too, rooster!" "it's too bad we have to hurry home, and break up the big five motorcycle boys' combination, just when we've been having such royal good times over in the country of the great war!" "but there was nothing else to do, elmer, when you got that cable message telling you to take the first steamer home, as your mother was about to undergo an operation, and wanted to see you first." "and rooster here chose to go along with you, because he's got such a tender chicken heart he just hates to see all the misery and suffering these poor belgians are enduring." "there's the last call to go ashore. come along, josh, and you too, hanky panky. boys, to be honest with you i more than half wish i was going along. home would look mighty fine to me just now." "oh! shucks! you'll soon get over that feeling, rod," said the lanky boy called josh, taking the alarm at once, for he seemed perfectly contented to stay where he was; "just wait till we're spinning along on our bully machines down through ostend, dunkirk, and calais to boulogne, where we may take a steamer to the u. s. if we can find berths." "be sure to keep a regular daily log of your happenings, josh, so we can look it over when you get back home," begged the boy who went by the strange nick-name of "rooster," doubtless because he crowed so much over his accomplishments. "good-bye, and good luck!" called out elmer, waving his hand again. "remember us to everybody in garland, particularly all the pretty girls!" shouted hanky panky, after the last exchange of handshakes, when with his two chums, rod and josh, he hurried down the gang-plank to the dock. the steamer for london was leaving its antwerp pier, and all seemed excitement. many people were already fleeing madly from belgium, now partly overrun by the vast invading army of the german kaiser. at any day antwerp was likely to be bombarded by the tremendous forty-two centimetre guns that had reduced the steel-domed forts at liege and namur, and allowed the conquering hosts entrance to brussels. while the trio on the dock continued to frantically return the salutes of their two chums as long as they could distinguish their figures on the hurricane deck of the staunch steamer bound down the scheldt, a few brief explanations might not come in amiss. possibly some of those who start to read this book may not have had the pleasure of meeting rod and his four friends in previous volumes of this series. the boys who wore the khaki lived in the enterprising town of garland across the water in the states. how they came by the fine motorcycles they owned would be too long a story to narrate here, and those who are curious about the circumstances must be referred to earlier stories for the details. they called their organization the big five because they planned to carry out numerous enterprises that might have daunted less courageous spirits. rod bradley was really the leader, though elmer overton, the southern boy, often proved himself a good second. then there were henry jucklin, known to all his mates as "hanky panky" because of his skill as a magician; josh whitcomb, with a bit of the yankee in his composition; and christopher boggs, otherwise "rooster." they had covered many thousands of miles with those wonderful steel steeds, and met with some surprising adventures up to the time when an opportunity arose allowing them to go abroad. a wealthy old gentleman of their town, who knew their calibre well, had given them an important errand to carry out, and stood responsible for their expenses to the other side of the atlantic. coming leisurely down the rhine country they had been suddenly caught by the war tide; and as it was in antwerp that rod expected to meet the party he sought they had to strike out boldly for that far-distant city. strange happenings had marked their course through the war-stricken country of belgium. indeed, several times it looked very much as though they would never attain their goal, but might be sent back as prisoners of war to germany. of course, their sympathies were mainly with the allies, and particularly after they had seen with their own eyes how the poor belgians, fighting heroically to defend their native land, were being cowed by the seemingly limitless legions of the kaiser. but in the end they reached antwerp, and had about decided to make a run down the coast to boulogne, where they might take a steamer home, when that fatal cable message upset their plans. elmer and rooster would not hear of the others accompanying them home. josh, too, was really wild to see more of the great war. so finally rod, finding that hanky panky seemed of the same mind, consented to stay over for a week or two longer. now that their two chums had left them the boys wandered about the city on the scheldt and tried to amuse themselves as best they could. but they soon found that ordinary sights no longer availed to satisfy them. "you see, the war fills the air wherever you go," explained josh, to account for this seeming lack of interest. "what does anybody want to go snooping into things that had to do with battles of centuries ago, when the biggest war the world ever knew is raging right now through northern france and belgium?" "yes, with great britain dragged in, and perhaps italy and other countries to follow, not even excepting our own land," added rod, seriously. "why," spoke up hanky panky, excitedly, "everywhere you look you see signs of the war game right here in antwerp. soldiers are marching through the streets to the cheers of the people. artillery is dashing this way and that. armored cars can be seen starting out to harry the enemy with their maxims. and hardly an hour of the day but half a dozen british or belgian aeroplanes soar above us, doing all kinds of stunts calculated to make your hair stand on end." "it's the greatest thing that ever happened, barring none," declared the delighted josh, looking as though he could almost hug himself, such was his joy; "and let me tell you we're the lucky boys to be on the spot when history is being made so fast." "the party i'm to see for mr. amos tucker," remarked rod, "will be in the city to-night. i'll get that out of my system; and once i send the documents by registered post i'm free for anything that crops up." "hurrah! then we'll have a chance to climb aboard our wheels again, and strike out for france!" said josh. "here's hoping we may run across a corner of the big fight that's taking place north of paris. i'd be a happy fellow if i could actually see those brave frenchmen, backed up by the british troops, meet the boastful germans who believe they can clean up the whole world." rod shrugged his shoulders, and made a wry face. "we've already seen something of a battle from a distance, you remember, josh," he told the other, "and all of us decided that it was simply _terrible_. for my part, while i'd like to see the french in action i'm not going out of my way to take chances. the way they fill the air with deadly missiles from quick-firers and with bursting shrapnel gives you a cold feeling." "rod," said hanky panky, who somehow had not been taking part in this talk, "do turn and watch that poor little woman over there. she's in a peck of trouble, i reckon, by the way she acts, first looking at a paper she's been reading, and then wiping her eyes with her apron." "you mean the one with the dog team, and the tall, brass-mounted milk cans, don't you, hanky panky?" asked josh quickly. "i saw her a while ago, and heard her speak to the little child in wooden sabots that is tagging at her heels. it was pure french she used, and i'd wager a cookey she isn't a belgian at all. there are lots of people from northern france in antwerp, you know." "well, she's having a hard time of it, some way or other," added hanky panky. "you can see her hug and kiss the little girl, and then read her letter again. now she looks around as if wondering where she can find a friend. say, rod, you can speak french right well; what's to hinder our finding out what the matter is? everybody in antwerp is too excited about the war to bother over a little thing like a poor french woman's troubles." thus appealed to rod laughed good-naturedly, and then led the way straight toward the spot where the owner of the dog team stood. evidently she was on her rounds delivering fresh milk, when overtaken by bad news. when rod addressed her in her native tongue she looked up appealingly. evidently she must have liked the appearance of the three frank-looking american boys, for she quickly commenced to talk volubly, all the while shrugging her shoulders, and emphasizing her words with gestures and face expressions. the other boys could see that she was comparatively young, and not bad looking. as for the child, they were greatly smitten with her pink cheeks and big black eyes, as well as the coy glances the little thing gave them. presently rod was seen to be reading a letter she handed him, and which she may have taken from the mail while on her milk route. again rod conversed with her, greatly to the mystification of his comrades, who thought he would never stop. finally rod turned toward them. "for goodness' sake tell us what it all means, rod!" urged hanky panky. "yes; has her landlord threatened to turn her out unless she can pay the rent, and ought we put up our spare cash to help settle the bill?" demanded josh. "oh! it's a thousand times more serious than that," said rod, which remark, of course, aroused the curiosity of his chums more than ever. "get some speed on then, rod, and give us the gist of the business," said hanky panky appealingly; "of course there's a heap of trouble in the old city just now, but when a case pokes right out in front of you it's hard to pass by. if we could help the little french woman and her pretty child, why, we ought to wake up and do something." "wait till you hear how the thing stands before you get so rash," warned rod, who knew only too well the hasty ways of his two chums. "this little woman's name is jeanne d'aubrey. her husband is a french reservist named andre. he was called to the colors as soon as the war broke out, leaving her here in antwerp with her little daughter, and a living to make from her few cows." "but what was the paper you read, rod?" asked impatient josh. "i'm coming to that," the other told him; "it is a very important letter she has just received from a law firm in paris, informing herself and husband that an old uncle, jasper, has died some time since, leaving his estate to andre on condition that he sign a certain document within a given time. it now lacks just three weeks of the limit, and unless his signature is properly placed there, and witnessed by three reliable people, the property will go to another nephew, one jules baggott by name, who has long hoped to inherit it." "great scott! that is tough, i should say!" ejaculated josh. "and her husband away at the french war front, perhaps shot long before now in the bargain," muttered hanky panky soberly; "because we've heard that there's been bloody fighting all along the line between the french border and in front of paris, where general von kluck's german army is already pressing." "you can't wonder then that the poor little woman is overcome with the terrible trouble that has fallen on her," explained rod. "once that document is properly signed and she would be fixed for life, no matter what happened to her soldier husband. but she hardly knows what to do. it is utterly out of the question for her to try and find him; and she doesn't know any person reliable enough in antwerp to trust them with the precious papers. you see, this other cousin, jules, is here in town, for she has even had him call upon her lately; and she now believes he knows of his uncle's will, so that he might try to keep the messenger from ever meeting andre!" rod paused just there. perhaps he knew his auditors so well that he really anticipated what the effect would be upon both josh and hanky panky. the pair looked at the french woman, who was observing them with such an eager, hungry expression on her face. she wrung her hands piteously just then, as though she saw the one chance to gain a little fortune for herself and child slipping away for lack of a brave champion who would undertake the task of finding her andre. that was the finishing stroke. josh had been hesitating, wondering whether he ought to make a suggestion that, springing from his generous heart, was already trembling on his lips. "rod!" he exclaimed, with boyish animation. "yes, what is it, josh?" asked the other, encouragingly, for just then the child had shot him a roguish, pathetic glance that went straight to his heart. "why, i was going to say we've managed to carry out a lot of things before now that looked as hopeless as searching for a needle in a haystack. rod, we might stand a chance of finding this same andre, if you thought it was up to us to deliver the goods!" hanky panky uttered a snort as he expressed his opinion. "i move we undertake the mission," he remarked eagerly; "i'd never sleep decent again if we left this poor little woman in the lurch after she'd told us her story. rod, shut your eyes and make it unanimous! the motorcycle boys in the saddle again!" chapter ii. a change of plans. rod's hesitation was of brief duration. he saw that both his comrades were fairly wild to go. josh in particular seemed to look upon this chance to see some more of the fighting taking place between the hostile armies as arranged especially to suit his fancy. "all right, then," said rod finally, "let's see what's to be done. if she can put certain facts in our possession, so that we'd stand a chance of finding andre in the army of general joffre, we might undertake the task. it'd be hard to refuse, with that little darling of a girl in such great need." "bully for you, rod!" exclaimed josh; "i knew you'd come to time right handsomely. we'll likely see something of the fierce battles that are raging every day in northern france as the germans drive the allies back mile after mile, aiming to take paris, and end the war with a rush!" apparently josh had been dreaming of something along these lines, and the opportunity to gratify his ambition took him by storm. rod again turned to the french woman and started to converse with her once more. how her face did light up when she learned that these brave american boys had decided to lend her their aid, and try to find her absent soldier husband among the legions of patriots defending the beloved paris. hanky panky and josh could understand very little of what was said, but by watching the expressive face and motions of jeanne they were able to translate much of her explanations. "she has told me where her humble home is," explained rod finally, "and this very night we will visit her to hear further particulars, and receive the document which was enclosed in the letter from the french law firm in paris." "and then?" asked josh breathlessly. "perhaps to-morrow we can start away from here and head south, to cross the border line, and enter france," he was told. "but not to go as far as boulogne, eh, rod?" questioned hanky panky. "no, for that would take us out of our way," the other continued. "after we get to calais we will have to strike direct for paris; that is unless we learn that one of the numerous german armies has cut across the road, blocking our way. in that event we will have to shape our plans over again. but there's no use crossing a bridge until you come to it, so don't let's worry." he once more spoke to the little woman, whose face was now beaming with gratitude. she seized the boy's hand and actually kissed it before rod had a chance to snatch it away. the act made him flush with confusion, especially since josh was chuckling in his clumsy way. but one thing was sure, jeanne considered their crossing her path at the time she needed a friend more than ever before in all her life as a most fortunate thing. so the boys walked away. "just to think what a wonderful change has come about inside of half an hour," remarked the delighted josh. "we had it all arranged for a little spin down the coast, and then embarking at boulogne for america. now we're planning to strike out to that region where a million german soldiers are striking hard blows at the lines of the allies, and meaning to capture paris. why, i'm tickled half to death at the idea of seeing some more thrilling pictures of the great world war." josh and hanky panky could talk of little else during the balance of that day. rod seemed very quiet, and it was evident that he foresaw they would have dangerous work laid out for them, which might try their boldness as few things had ever done before. "listen," he told the others at one time, when they were discussing the possibilities of the future; "perhaps neither of you happened to notice a man with a french look who stood by a stoop further along the narrow street, and kept watching us all the time i was talking to the woman. since then it's struck me that perhaps he may have been the other cousin she spoke of, jules baggott, and that he was guessing how the wind lay when he saw me read the paper, and watched her kiss my hand." "whoop!" ejaculated the impulsive josh immediately, "that would mean trouble with a big t, wouldn't it, rod?" "if he concluded that we were going to find her husband, providing andre hadn't already been killed in the fighting," rod went on to explain, "i should imagine this jules would go to some trouble to stop us, and get the paper away. you can see what it would mean to him if we failed to make connections." many times during the balance of that afternoon josh and hanky panky referred to the business which they were about to undertake. in fact it seemed as though both boys enjoyed the idea of again drawing near the fighting line, and witnessing some of the amazing events taking place there in this modern war. history was being made every day, and the thought of being actual witnesses of these grand undertakings thrilled them as nothing else could have done. frequently either one or the other imagined they were being followed; and a dozen times some innocent citizen was suspected of being the skulking jules. if the french cousin of andre actually had them shadowed it was done so skilfully that none of the boys were any the wiser. after supper that night they sallied forth. rod took extra precautions to dodge the main exit of the hotel at which they were quartered; if a spy waited there to keep tabs on their movements he meant the fellow should have his trouble for nothing. they found the home of the french woman. it was, of course, an humble abode, but as neat as a pin. rod again entered into a fervent conversation, and from time to time stopped to explain to his chums what the burden of the talk might be. in the end jeanne entrusted him with the precious paper, which, once signed by her husband, with the names of competent witnesses also inscribed according to law, would mean a competency for herself and child the balance of their lives, whether andre ever came home from the war or not. rod was very cautious in making his way back to the hotel. he avoided all dark streets, and warned his chums to keep a bright lookout for skulking figures. nothing out of the way happened, however, and they reached their hotel in safety. for once josh evinced little desire to stop and watch some of the stirring scenes which were to be met with in all the principal thoroughfares of antwerp during those days and nights when the shadow of the german mailed fist hung over the heads of the dauntless belgian nation. down at the hotel rod found the gentleman waiting for him with whom amos tucker, far away in america, had business connections of vast importance which he had entrusted to rod to carry through. this was finally accomplished, and after rod made sure that everything had been completed in a satisfactory fashion, he entrusted the papers to the mail to be carried duly to mr. tucker, guarded by registry and every possible means against loss in transit. "there; i feel as if i had a big load off my shoulders," said the boy as he once more joined his two chums, who had spent the hour talking over the immediate future, and what amazing things it might have in store for them. all of them were tired, for they had been up early that august day, and every hour had been crammed with excitement. accordingly it was decided that they had better retire without further delay, and get what sleep they could. "there's no telling what sort of a bed we may have to-morrow night," rod warned the others; "so make the most of it while you have a soft mattress under you. the ground is pretty hard, sometimes, you know, because often we've tried it, and may have to again." both the others only laughed, as though they were so well pleased with the opportunity crossing their path so unexpectedly that they could not find any fault, no matter how things turned. when another day dawned they busied themselves in getting breakfast, settling their account, and then securing their motorcycles, which had been well taken care of during their stay in antwerp. such valuable wheels might have been commandeered by the authorities for use in the army, only that rod chanced to carry a few lines actually signed by king albert and which had been placed in his hands by the dauntless belgian monarch himself, which warned all concerned that nothing belonging to the american boys was to be touched, as they had shown their friendship for belgium in numerous ways. rod was careful enough to make sure that all of them carried a plentiful supply of the necessary petrol, for he realized how difficult it would likely be to secure any of this liquid fuel, since every gallon was being seized for the use of the multitude of lorries and cars employed for transportation purposes by the armies in the field. it was about nine in the morning when they were ready to start. the early september day was a fair one, though promising more or less heat before noon came and went. rod led the way, and they soon left the big bustling city on the scheldt behind them. a splendid road invited an increase of speed, and presently they were booming along right merrily. how delightfully cheery did the rapid clatter of the exhausts sound to their ears, after having been deprived of this familiar company for days at a stretch, since abandoning their machines at the home of a woman market gardener, who had later on brought them to the city, concealed under a load of produce. they kept as close together as safety allowed, with rod as usual in the lead. well did the other two know they could always depend on him to steer them aright. rod carried a little map of the country with him. besides, he had studied it so thoroughly that in most cases he could tell the lay of the land without consulting the chart. "this is the life!" called hanky panky, who brought up the rear, squatted in his saddle something after the manner of a huge toad; for hanky had a peculiar "style" of his own, entirely original, which he claimed to have as many good points as a horse jockey's method of riding on the neck of his mount. "pity our two poor chums who had to set out for home so early!" added josh, who was in a sense fairly hugging himself on account of the wonderful possibilities for excitement looming up above the horizon just then. "well, their machines went with them," said rod over his shoulder, "and they say 'where ignorance is bliss 'tis a folly to be wise.' right now they may be over in england, pitying us for being left behind in the land of the great war." "this is a hunky-dory road, all right!" ventured hanky panky shortly afterward. "why, we seem to be gliding along as smoothly as if on a parlor floor. we could go twice as fast, if we wanted to." "no need of that," said rod, hearing the remark, which was, however, intended only for josh; "we'll pass through ostend and dunkirk, reaching calais in short order. then, like as not, we'll have to spend the rest of the day there, and to-night in the bargain." "shucks! what's the use of all that, rod?" demanded josh, for he was fairly wild to get near the firing line again, and witness more of those wonderful sights that had thrilled him to the bone a short time back. "we'll have to give an account of ourselves, most likely, and get written permission to go into france," he was told. "say, fellows," called out hanky panky just then, "there's a car whirling along right now in a cloud of dust, with two men aboard. wouldn't it be a joke on us if that was the jules baggott the woman spoke of, and that he was chasing after us, bent on making us give up the paper she entrusted to rod here?" chapter iii. the pursuit. of course when hanky panky made this astonishing statement both his chums commenced to send anxious glances back along the road over which they were spinning so grandly. "what d'ye think of it, rod?" demanded josh quickly. "they act as if they meant to overtake us, all right," the boy in the van declared, without hesitation; "but i couldn't say for certain whether one of them is the scheming jules or not. you remember i only _thought_ i had a glimpse of him at the time we talked with jeanne on the antwerp street." "shall we let them come up, and have it out?" questioned josh belligerently, for josh was something of a fighter in his way, and always had a "chip on his shoulder." "we are looking for no scrap, if it can be helped," said rod; "so first of all we can try letting out a little more speed." "and if they follow suit, then what?" asked hanky panky, with a vein of anxiety in his voice; for being in the rear he imagined he would necessarily be the target for any stray leaden missiles that might come that way. "in the first place we'll feel pretty certain they're meaning to overtake us," rod called back, as he increased his pace considerably, an easy thing to do, although he knew the danger of going at headlong speed over an unknown road, where at any minute they might rush upon a hay-wagon blocking the whole thoroughfare, and concealed by some bend. "well, they've let out another notch, all right!" called hanky panky, from his position in the rear. "and believe me that's some racer of a car they're running!" exploded josh; "why, it can give us a run for our money, try as we may to get away." rod had already discovered this, though saying nothing as yet. he knew that it was not safe to put hanky panky to a severe test, for the other was apt to get a little rattled, and while going at a mad pace any sort of accident was likely to be serious. they continued to speed along at this merry clip for a brief time longer. then the rear guard reported that the pursuing car seemed to be holding its own. "hadn't we ought to go faster, rod?" he besought the leader; "i know you're only holding in on account of me, but forget that, won't you?" but rod knew better than that. he was aware of his chum's failing, and dared not risk too much. there had been times in the past when he allowed the limit of speed to be taken, but always with serious misgivings. "leave it to me, hanky," he called out encouragingly; "i'll fix up a game that will cook their goose for them." "sure you will, rod," replied the other at the top of his voice, for the trio of machines made considerable racket as they pushed along in close formation. sometimes the dust raised by their passage completely hid the pursuing red car; then a little puff of wind would waft it away, so that the motorcycle boys could easily see the object of their concern. past humble homes of the belgian peasants they rushed. ducks and chickens and dogs had to get out of the way in great style in order to avoid being run over. this was one of the things rod had in mind when deciding not to increase their speed any further; a squawking hen has been the cause of a "spill" with many an unlucky motorcyclist; and every one has noticed how persistently "biddy" will try to cross the road despite the peril, if her home happens to be on the other side. rod no longer entertained any doubts concerning the identity of those who occupied the red racing car. one of them he felt positive must be jules baggott, the unscrupulous cousin of andre, who would profit if the soldier should never live to sign the papers which were mentioned in the will of the dead uncle. by this time rod had his fighting blood up. opposition always made him the more determined to accomplish his ends, when his heart was back of the undertaking. his active mind quickly grasped the situation, and a cleverly arranged plan was formed that gave promise of success. "josh, can you hear me?" he called out, not daring to look back now because at the time they were negotiating several sharp turns, and his attention was required at the front. "easy thing!" sang out the one just behind him. "how about you, hanky?" continued the leader. "i get you o. k., rod; let her go!" came the reply in a roar. "if we can only coax them to leave their car for a short time," explained rod, "josh might disable it in some way, so the pursuit would come to an end!" "a bully scheme, rod, and don't you forget that you said josh was going to be johnny on the spot!" the party in question bellowed exultantly. "there's a big house ahead of us," continued rod, "for i've had several glimpses of the same, and we'll strike it shortly. i don't know why i think we'll find it deserted, but it has that look to me. one end seems to have been burned out. well, that might be the place we're looking for, to give our pursuers the slip." "oh! i see the house right now," barked josh; "and sure enough it's just as you said, with part of the roof gone." "it sets near the road, so we can rush around it," called out the leader. "josh will go on ahead now and hide his machine among the trees near the road. hanky, you keep with me. perhaps we'll enter the house, and pass out the back way, to speed on again. josh, you hurry back so when the men leave their car to see if you're inside the house you can get busy. understand?" both of the others called out that it was perfectly clear to them. the abandoned mansion was now close at hand. rod believed they must be drawing near the outskirts of ostend, the belgian watering place, which could not lie many miles beyond. it required a clever mind to arrange all the little details of such a plan of campaign in a hurry. the fact that rod was able to do so stamped him the right kind of a leader. still, neither of his companions thought it strange, because they had known him to do numerous similar things in times gone by. josh managed to get ahead, and would thus have a brief time to hide his machine alongside the road so as to steal back towards the house before the car arrived, for it was still some little distance away. when the men in it saw only two boys riding off they would naturally suspect that some accident had happened to the machine of the third fellow, who possibly had taken up temporary quarters in the old house. this was just what rod wanted them to think; it would allow josh the chance he needed to disable the car in some way or other. things moved along swiftly. rod and hanky panky dashed up to the front of the house and stopped. doubtless the oncoming pursuers would miss the clattering of the exhausts, and understand that they had halted for some purpose or other. "they've slowed down some themselves, rod!" cried hanky panky, as he stood "at attention," ready to jump on his machine the instant rod gave the word, so as to continue the mad flight. the red car had come around the last bend, and was now in plain sight. for a distance of at least two miles the road ran as straight as a yard stick; so that the men could readily see that the third motorcycle lad was not in sight ahead. "all right; it's time we were off!" cried rod presently. the car had covered half the distance between the bend and the deserted house, and they could plainly see the man sitting alongside the chauffeur leaning forward, as though eagerly scrutinizing them. rod imagined he was a little taken aback by their halting, and was trying to puzzle it out. suddenly the popping of the exhausts announced that the two motorcycles were once more in action. both boys sprang into the saddle and away they went down the dusty road. as they were in plain sight the men could readily see that one of the trio was missing. and it would be most natural to imagine that something had happened to his machine, so that he must have taken temporary refuge in the abandoned house, while his comrades continued their flight. what then? would the man they believed to be the plotting jules stop, and with his assistant rush into the house to look for the missing boy? much depended on his actions, for if the chauffeur remained with the car, josh, lying in wait near by, might be utterly unable to accomplish the design he had in view. rod had high hopes. he could figure that jules would want to make sure the third american boy did not have the paper on his person, before speeding after the two whom he could see going leisurely down the road, as if inviting pursuit. as their pace was now less swift rod was able to turn again and again and look backward. hanky panky was doing the same, though his machine did wabble more or less, and he had to be exceedingly careful not to land in the ditch alongside the fine road. it was a moment of considerable suspense to both boys. they saw the car approach the house, and noted with more or less interest that its pace was lessening. that began to look as though the bait had taken, and jules meant to make sure of the "bird in the hand," before trying for those in the bush. "rod, they're stopping, as sure as you live!" yelled hanky panky in great excitement just then. "yes, and there they both jump out; steady, hanky, don't lose your head!" warned the leader, noticing how the other's machine wavered. chapter iv. josh does his little trick. meanwhile josh had carried out the preliminary part of his share in the plot to the best of his ability. rushing ahead of his chums he had succeeded in concealing his motorcycle amidst the bushes skirting the road, just a little distance beyond the house. his heart was beating like a triphammer as he turned, once this had been done, to discover whether the men in the pursuing car had come in sight so as to notice what he was doing. "everything is lovely, and the goose hangs high!" josh muttered in apparent glee, when he found that this was not the case. his two chums had by this time halted at the door of the house, and it even looked as though they might be saying something to some one inside. of course josh understood that this was part of the plan intended to deceive the men. he was already making his way back toward the house, bending low so that no one might see his shoulders above the bushes, which grew in profusion just there, as if on purpose to further his designs. then came the rapid pulsations of the engines, as rod and hanky panky got going again. the car must be in sight, coming swinging along, with both men keenly observant of all that was taking place. still josh continued to creep forward. he wished to be as close to the building as possible when the car stopped, as he felt sure would be the case. probably the men would not linger long, once they had rushed inside and taken a look around. not finding him there they would be likely to "tumble to the game," as josh put it, and hasten outside again in order to avoid any backset to their pursuit of the shrewd american motorcycle boys. when the car did stop josh was only a dozen paces away. the friendly bushes allowed him to lie there unseen, while at the same time he could catch glimpses of those in whom he had such great interest. "shucks! i do believe the chauffeur is meaning to stick by the car," he whispered to himself indignantly, only to hastily add in a gratified way: "no he isn't either, for there he jumps out after jules, who is already bolting inside. now's my chance, if ever i expect to get one! here goes, then!" with the last words josh was hurrying through the bushes as fast as he could make time. of course his pulses were thrilled with the sense of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders. would one of the men come out unexpectedly, and catch him busy with the car? josh hoped not; at the same time he had his mind made up just what he meant to do under such conditions. if either or both of his chums happened to be looking back just then they must have seen him there, for he had by now attained his goal, and was alongside the red racer. josh flitted from one side of the car to the other. he seemed to be working with all the vim of which he was capable, and every time he made a movement it was accompanied by a strange sighing sound, as though some restrained captive hailed freedom in a joyous fashion. after all josh was not detained there more than a couple of minutes, though it may have seemed much longer to the anxious lad, for his heart beat so tumultuously that it really threatened to smother him. he could constantly hear the men inside the house moving hastily about, and calling to one another in french. evidently they were wondering where the missing boy as well as his machine could be hidden. they might at any instant begin to suspect that a clever trick had been played upon them, and come rushing forth to protect their own car, upon which the continuance of the pursuit depended wholly. at last josh seemed to have finished his work, whatever it may have been, for he turned away from the car and started to run. he took to the road, meaning to reach the spot where his motorcycle lay hidden in the bushes. given just enough time to arrive and lay hands on the precious machine josh felt sure he could laugh at any effort on the part of the men to overtake him. just as he came close to the hiding place of the wheel he heard a loud shout from the rear. this announced that his presence had been discovered by one or both of the frenchmen. of course their first thought would be to leap into the car and try to speed after him. josh chuckled with fiendish glee as he contemplated their disgust when they found that no matter how hard they tried they could not coax the red racer to make the first move. he could hear them roaring as he dragged his machine out on the road. one look back was sufficient to show him how matters stood. both men were tumbling out of the stalled car, wild to make a hasty examination in order to discover why it would not move an inch, though the engine was throbbing away tumultuously all the while, just as they had left it. "the crack i gave that self-starter rod bent it, and placed it out of commission, all right," josh exclaimed, as he drew his machine to the middle of the road, and deliberately prepared to follow after his chums; "but that was only a beginning; the worst is yet to come when they look around." louder came the angry shouts from the direction of the house. the men must have learned the full nature of their troubles. josh saw them starting toward him as if under the impression that he would be silly enough to await their coming. "not for joseph; not if he knows it!" he called out, as he turned on the current, and immediately commenced to spin along the roadway. there was a sudden spiteful crack from the rear, and josh ducked his head involuntarily as he heard some object whistle past close to his ears. "wow! they're trying to wing me, for a fact!" he whooped, at the same time bending low in his saddle, so as to present as little body surface as possible to the aim of the one who was doing the firing. several more shots rang out, sounding like the popping of champagne corks. doubtless the marksman, no other than jules himself, was more or less excited, and although he might be a clever shot under ordinary conditions, just then he failed to accomplish anything. so josh rolled away, waving his hand derisively when he felt that he was safe beyond pistol shot. the boy was trembling all over, though hilarious concerning the wonderful success of the little plan which rod had conceived, and left to him to carry out. "you've got to have your eye-teeth cut when you run afoul of the big five motorcycle boys, and don't forget that!" he shouted over his shoulder, as he sped along; although of course the outwitted pursuers could hardly have caught the words, and even if they did might not understand their import. rod and hanky panky had halted half a mile further on, watching to see what happened. it might be they meant to turn back, and come to the assistance of their comrade, should fate play a scurvy trick on josh, so that he fell into the hands of the enemy. when they saw him mounting and caught the familiar music of his engine's exhaust, the muffler being open, both rod and hanky panky felt like giving shouts of exultation, for they had already discovered that the two men were having some difficulty with their car, after josh had "fiddled" with the same. then came the shots, and of course they felt a new anxiety lest josh be brought to grief through this means. "look at him leaning low over his handlebars, will you?" cried hanky panky, lost in admiration over the smart way josh was accomplishing the trick, which perhaps he had seen riders in the wild west show do when pursued by indians of the plains. "it's all right, and josh has saved the day for us!" exclaimed rod, beaming with gratification. "jules will begin to wonder what sort of boys they raise over in the states, when he finds out what happened." "but what did josh do to the car, rod?" "you'll have to ask him," replied the other, "though i suspect he put the starting gear out of commission to begin with. here he is, and grinning at a great rate." the third rider slowed up as he approached the spot where they awaited him. no danger of the two men starting their car, and swooping down on the allies; if they commenced to run on foot toward rod and his chums it was only necessary to leap into their saddles and be off like the wind. "it worked like fresh grease, rod!" panted josh, as he threw himself down from his seat, and held one hand to his aching side, for that boisterous laughter was weakening him more or less; "oh! they fell into your little trap like innocents. it was like taking candy from the baby to work them like i did." "there they are, shaking their fists at us right now!" burst out hanky panky, as he pointed along the road toward the deserted house. "it's about all they can do; when you come to think of it!" grinned josh. "we were getting cold feet when we heard them shooting, old fellow; and i hope none of the lead so much as touched you! i saw the dust fly up after nearly every shot, it seemed to me." "i rather think the fellow meant to hit my wheel and disable it," explained the latest arrival; "but it isn't so easy to do a thing like that, when a motorcycle is speeding along at the rate of a mile a minute. no matter what he aimed to do he missed his guess, and i gave him the slip." "rod here says you must have jammed his self-starter so it wouldn't work when he tried it; how about that, josh?" asked hanky panky, who never would be satisfied until he had learned all the particulars. "you just bet that was what i did the first thing," the other told him exultantly; "but i had another card up my sleeve, too. you see they might hammer that back into shape again, and get a move on; but i fixed it so they'll not chase after us to-day." "what did you do, then?" demanded hanky panky. "i had my big knife all ready," said josh grimly, "and i used it with all my might and main." "on the tires, do you mean, josh?" "every one of them is sliced and slashed the worst way you ever saw," replied the other. "i never was guilty of doing such a mean thing before in all my life; but it was absolutely necessary if we meant to shut off pursuit. you ought to have heard the air sizzling out after i jammed that big blade through, and ripped it along! whee! it was mighty exciting, because i half expected to see one of the men come rushing out any old second, and chase after me down the road. but i was lucky, and nothing like that happened." hanky panky looked his deep admiration. he often wished nature had made him as smart as josh, with that underlying streak of yankee blood in his veins. hanky was willing to try to accomplish anything that came his way; but being a bit clumsy in his actions there was always a chance that he would bungle his job, and fail to attain the expected results. he slapped the late actor in the stirring little drama heartily on the back. "good boy, josh!" he went on to say; "you're all wool, and a yard wide. why, even rod here couldn't have done a whit better. there, see, the men are starting this way as if they meant to make us get a move on." "oh! we're willing to oblige jules," laughed rod; "especially since we've accomplished all we meant to do, and their car is placed out of commission. good-bye, jules; if we meet again before we've played this game out it will be where the cannon are roaring, and the battle is on! until that time, then, adieu!" immediately the trio started along the road leading to ostend. rod had figured some time back that they would soon be across the border, and traversing french soil. the last glimpse they had of the baffled plotter he was standing in the road and still staring hard after the vanishing motorcycle boys. chapter v. on the road to calais. "what's this i see ahead there, boys? looks like there might be some other motorcycle fellows around these regions, though i guess they've left their mounts behind." it was hanky panky who said this. they had halted at a wayside spring to refresh themselves, for the road was proving pretty dusty. at noon the three boys had swung through ostend on the belgian coast. the famous watering place did not look just the same as on other summers, when tens of thousands visited it for the sport to be enjoyed in the sea. true, it was swarming with people, but in the main soldiers walked the sands, and there was a decidedly martial air to the place generally given up to gaiety. the boys had, of course, been stopped quite frequently. with war in the land this was only to be expected. still the papers they carried always won the day, and they were allowed to proceed. this could hardly be wondered at when one of those little documents was written wholly by king albert himself, and contained an express desire that the bearer and his friends should be given every possible courtesy by loyal belgians, as they had proved their friendship for the little kingdom to the utmost. then later on the motorcycle trio knew they were on french soil, for they had been stopped by a patrol in the famous blue tunics of the republican army. once more had their passports been scanned, and after a little consultation, in which rod was able to mingle a few sentences, he speaking french, they were saluted respectfully by the patrol, and allowed to proceed. after that they had arrived at dunkirk, where later on hundreds of thousands of british soldiers were destined to be landed. once through this city the boys headed on south, aiming to reach calais before evening came. so far nothing serious had hindered their forward progress, and all of them felt light-hearted indeed. then had come the halt at the cool wayside spring; and it was after drinking their fill of the delightful water, thanks to a gourd some kind person had supplied, that hanky panky announced his discovery. josh took a look, and then burst out into a loud laugh. "why, if you're going to believe because a fellow wears khaki he must own a motorcycle," he told the other, "you'll have the whole country full of spinning machines. those are british soldiers, hanky; tommy atkins, you know, come over to france to give a helping hand to keep the germans out of paris." "sure they are," grinned the other; "as if we didn't spy a lot of the same up at dunkirk when we slipped through. i was only guying you, josh. but we must be near calais, don't you think, rod?" "only a few miles more and we'll get there," the leader advised him. "like as not there's a regiment of britishers camped near by, ready to start off in the direction of paris when trains can be supplied." "huh! they'll need all the hands they can muster to hold back that army we saw passing through brussels, i wager," said josh.[1] "hundreds of thousands of germans, if there was one," added hanky panky; "why, they passed on the dog-trot for hours all that afternoon; and in the morning the drab-colored line was still moving steadily through the city, headed south." "there, those two men are going down the road now, in the same direction we are," josh went on to say; "i'd like to come up with them, and hear a few words in my own mother tongue. let me tell you i'm tired of listening to only german, flemish and french." the two soldiers, hearing the splutter of the motorcycles behind them, drew to one side of the road so as to allow the trio of boys to pass. instead of doing this the chums dismounted and saluted. "we're three americans boys who got caught in the whirl of the war on the border of the rhine country," rod hastened to explain. "we've had a pretty warm experience getting through belgium with our machines, but by great good luck managed to do so. now we want to get to the front where the fighting is going on. we've a good reason for wishing to do that, you see. where is your camp, may i ask, fellows?" the two young britishers exchanged surprised looks. evidently they hardly knew whether to believe rod or not, his story seemed so remarkable. still they must have been favorably impressed with his looks, as nearly every person was, for presently they smiled broadly, and insisted on shaking hands with each of the motorcycle boys. "our camp is about a mile ahead, and alongside the road," one of them hastened to explain; "you will be held up there, unless you sheer off on a little side road that lies just beyond that batch of squatty trees." evidently this was intended as a gentle hint. rod, however, only laughed. "thanks for the tip, my friend," he said gaily; "but we mean to spend the night in calais, and will be only too glad to meet your commanding officer. we have papers he will be pleased to see; and there isn't a general on french soil but who would gladly let us pass on the recommendations we carry." "when do you expect to start for the front?" asked josh just then, as with his companions he prepared to move on. "we have received notice that a train will be ready for us an hour after sundown; and let me tell you we are highly pleased to know it," came the reply, accompanied with a good-natured smile. "what is the news from the front?" continued josh eagerly. "a tremendous battle is on before paris," replied the britisher. "von kluck has swung around from the northwest, and is trying to envelope the city with his forces, while two other armies are bearing down from the north and northeast. it will be all the french can do to hold them back. most of us expect that paris will fall inside of a few days. but we're fair wild to get in the ruck, and strike a blow at the kaiser's soldiers. he's called the british a contemptible little army, you must know." "here's hoping that you do have that pleasure!" called josh as he turned and looked back over his shoulder, for the three boys had started along the road; "and my dearest wish is that i get on the ground before all the scrapping is over." a short time afterwards and they arrived at the place where the regiment of khaki-clad britisher regulars was in a temporary camp. they were awaiting the summons to take their train when it was made up, and be whirled off to the scene of carnage, where tens of thousands of men on both sides were fated to be killed and wounded before three more suns had set. rod expected to be held up, and therefore was not in the least surprised when a patrol stepped into the road, motioning to the three lads to halt. they were soon taken to the place where several officers sat looking over a map of paris and its environs, where they fully expected to be in action before another twenty-four hours had passed. the british officers eyed them with more or less wonder, and not a little suspicion in the bargain, for they soon realized that the boys were not english, as they had at first supposed; and ugly rumors concerning clever german spies had already begun to pass current in the ranks of the allies. when rod gave a brief account of all their adventures, from the time they heard the first news of how war had been declared against russia and france by germany, all of them were deeply interested. and they scanned the wonderful paper bearing the signature of king albert with eager eyes, for already had the monarch of the dauntless little belgian nation become an heroic figure over across the channel, on account of his defiance to the kaiser's demand that he allow the german army to march through neutral territory in order to swoop down on paris. after a very pleasant ten minutes with the british officers the boys passed on toward calais, followed by the best of wishes. "no use talking," josh was heard to say, "blood is thicker than water, after all. i've got some english and scotch and irish blood in me, and that's why my heart is with the cause of the allies. i suppose if i'd had german ancestors i'd be just as much for their cause; but all the same i am not." shortly afterwards they arrived in calais, and put up at an inn recommended by one of the officers as being decent and reasonable. calais was already in the throes of the war, for the streets were crowded with marching soldiers; and artillery trains could be seen moving this way and that, as they were being loaded on flat cars to be taken to the front. the boys expected to pass the night there, getting such sleep as was possible, considering the confusion that prevailed. in the morning, if all were well, they could make an early start in the direction of paris, expecting to find splendid roads all of the way, and with nothing to delay them, unless it were the fact that moving armies clogged the thoroughfares so that a passage was impossible. after they had had their supper they wandered forth to look around a little, because on account of meaning to get away so early they knew there would be no opportunity to do this in the morning. all of them felt rather tired, however, and it was not long before hanky panky voiced the general sentiment when he suggested that sleep would fill the bill better than anything else he knew of. they had a room with two beds, and as josh was a restless sleeper he was given the single cot. it may have been about one or two in the morning when rod awoke, oppressed with the conviction that there was something moving in the room, which suggestion sent a thrill through his whole being, and aroused him thoroughly. [footnote 1: see "the big five motorcycle boys under fire."] chapter vi. the fretful roar of battle. rod held his breath and listened. though his nerves were quivering with excitement he could hold himself in check wonderfully well. josh was breathing heavily, while hanky panky lay quite still; somehow rod half suspected that the other might also have been aroused, and was, like himself, listening with bated breath to find out what had caused that slight noise close by. a thrill passed through rod when something touched him. then he suddenly realised that it was his bed-fellow, hanky panky, wishing to be reassured; and accordingly rod gave him a slight nudge with his elbow. something moved again, and, on straining his vision, for the room was fairly dark, rod managed to discover what seemed to be the bent-over figure of a man. he guessed instinctively that it was no common thief who had managed to enter their chamber in this calais inn at the dead of night, meaning to steal money, or any other valuable he could get his hands on. jules must have managed to follow after them, and was also in the french city by the sea, which later on the kaiser became so wild to possess in order to harass the coast of england twenty miles away that he ordered mad charges on the part of his men, and thousands on thousands were slaughtered without accomplishing any favorable result. rod did not mean to lie quietly there and allow this sneak-thief time to rummage around. of course the precious paper wanted by jules was securely hidden; but for all that it went against his grain to allow such liberties. managing to get his mouth close to the ear of hanky panky he whispered: "shout when i do, and jump out of bed!" the other gave a sign to the effect that he heard and understood; although this consisted only of a nudge with his knee it was sufficient to tell rod the game was ready for touching off. when both of them started to yell the effect was weird, and must have given poor, unsuspicious josh the scare of his life; for he rolled out of bed and commenced to thresh wildly about him, perhaps under the impression that dreams were realities and his clothes actually on fire. rod had eyes only for the dusky figure of the unwelcome intruder. the man made a headlong dive for the open window through which he evidently must have entered the room of the inn. it was all of ten feet, perhaps twelve, to the ground, and he went plunging through space like a huge frog. they heard him strike heavily, though he managed to gain his feet, and go limping away, groaning as he vanished in the darkness. of course there was more or less excitement about the inn. people could be heard calling out as they thrust their heads from the windows. some men who had been lying asleep in the wagon-yard near by came hurrying up, asking if it was a fire. rod explained to the landlord, who appeared, candle in hand; and as no damage had been done the excitement soon quieted down. the boys, however, decided to set a trap by means of a cord, that would warn them if any one again attempted to enter their room by that exposed window. apparently the failure of his plan discouraged the schemer, for they were not annoyed any further during the remainder of the night. with the coming of morning they ate an early breakfast, settled their reckoning with the french landlord, who insisted on apologizing profusely for their being so rudely disturbed, just as if he was to blame, and then once more mounted on their reliable motorcycles the trio of boys started forth. it was a fine morning in early september. all nature seemed smiling, and it required quite a stretch of the imagination to realize that not so very far away from this fair spot two million determined soldiers were facing one another, bent on slaughter unparalleled. the battle of the marne was even then opening, with the fate of fair paris trembling in the balance. one thing they soon noticed, which was that the road they were following now seemed to keep even with a railway line, over which trains were passing at a dizzy speed, all heading in the same direction, toward paris. every time one of these was sighted the boys could see that the passengers were wholly soldiers. sometimes they wore the blue coats of the french, with the beloved red trousers, which have been so dear to the hearts of the fighting men of the republic from away back to the time of napoleon; then again the dull khaki of the british regulars predominated. they occupied first-class carriages, freight vans, cattle cars--anything sufficed so long as it allowed them to get closer to where a chance for glory awaited them. all these things kept the boys in a constant condition of expectancy. as the morning wore away and they continued to make good headway josh even found himself indulging in the hope that they would reach the scene of activity before many hours had elapsed. once, when they had halted at a wayside farmhouse to see if anything in the shape of a lunch could be secured for love or money, he even called the attention of his two mates to a faint rumbling far away in the distance. "as sure as you live, fellows," josh went on to say eagerly, "that must be made by some of those monster guns the germans are rolling along with them, meaning to batter down the forts defending paris, just like they did the steel-domed ones up at liege and namur in belgium, as we know happened." rod was not quite so positive about it. they had covered many miles, because of good roads, and the few obstacles encountered, but he hardly believed they could be so close to paris as that. "i can see something low down ahead of us that may be clouds," hanky panky now asserted. "more'n likely that's the smoke of the battle that's raging over yonder," declared the positive josh, who always had to be wrestled with before he could be convinced that he was wrong. "no matter which is the correct solution of the puzzle," laughed rod, not wishing to take sides against either of his chums, "we're meaning to go ahead after we see if we can get some grub at this little farmhouse." fortune played them a kind stroke, for the farmer's wife, a voluble little french woman, who had a husband and three sons in the army, on learning that they were actually american boys, insisted on their settling down while she cooked them a fine dinner. it turned out that madame had herself spent several years in america, and even then had relatives living in the french quarter in new york city. she asked them a multitude of questions, and was especially anxious to learn if the great republic across the sea would align itself with the entente allies, who were now, she insisted, engaged in fighting the battles of the whole world for freedom from military domination. taken altogether, the boys quite enjoyed that hour at noon. they learned considerable about things that interested them, especially the lay of the land ahead, and where they might expect to come upon trouble in meeting some of the troops engaged in the fighting. josh was especially tickled when she assured them that the dull throbbing sound they heard almost constantly was indeed the fretful murmur of big guns. being a french woman, and very sanguine with regard to the valor of her countrymen, the farmer's wife could already in imagination see the beaten germans fleeing in mad haste before the invincible soldiers of the republic. in this humor then they once more started forth, feeling considerably refreshed after that fine meal. indeed, rod had been unable to make the little patriotic woman accept the three francs he offered her; and watching his chance he had laid the money on the table where she must later on find it. an hour later and the throbbing had grown much more perceptible, showing that they must be rapidly drawing closer to where the vast armies were marching and countermarching, with the field batteries in almost constant action. they understood that several german armies were approaching paris at the same time, one coming from the north, another veering more to the east, but the most dangerous of all, that commanded by the clever von kluck, swinging around so as to come down on the devoted french capital from the northwest. more than forty years had passed since another hostile army had laid siege to paris and taken the gay city after many months of desperate fighting. rod wondered whether history was going to be repeated now. he felt sure that if once those germans managed to get their terrible forty-two centimetre guns busy, no fort was capable of standing up under their frightful pounding. so the afternoon began to wear away, and all this while the motors hummed cheerily, as they worked unceasingly, carrying the three bold riders closer and closer to where the greatest battle of the age was being fought to a finish. there was a sudden whoop from the rear, where hanky panky held his place. when the others managed to glance around, almost afraid that they would find him in the ditch alongside the road, with his machine a wreck, they discovered hanky pointing wildly overhead, while at the same time he shouted: "looks like old times, fellows, to see that aeroplane spinning along up there half a mile high; and say, it's sure a german taube in the bargain. how about that same, rob; you ought to know what they look like?" chapter vii. close to the firing line. "you're right about it, hanky panky!" announced rod, after he had taken a good look aloft, and recognized some of the familiar features distinguishing the taube aeroplanes used almost exclusively at that early stage of the war by the german military forces. "it's snooping around getting information so's to help von kluck strike the allies where they don't expect him, most likely!" the boy in the rear called out. "mebbe not," said josh stoutly; "for all we know old von may have put his fingers in the trap laid by wily general joffre, and what he wants to do now is to find a way to draw out again." whether josh really believed all he said or not was an open question, but at any rate it was in his heart to stand up staunchly for the french and english, whatever came to pass. he had seen that vast german horde overrun poor belgium, and he was praying they might meet an obstacle when they finally ran up against the whole allied army, standing before paris, and determined to do or die there. they cast many a glance upward as they continued to move along. the aeroplane did not seem to be disturbed, as far as they could make out. if there were french birdmen in the vicinity they had other work cut out for them besides chasing a hostile flier. possibly they were over the fighting armies, finding out valuable statistics for the use of the french commanders, and which might affect the ultimate outcome of the battle. all doubt concerning their being in the vicinity of the field of gigantic operations was by this time removed. the roar of guns had kept on growing more and more intense. besides, it was easy for them to make sure that what hanky panky had suggested as a threatening summer storm cloud was in reality smoke from artillery and burning cottages along the line of von kluck's advance. once they had to stop and get on one side of the road in order to permit the passage of a convoy of motor lorries loaded with wounded men. the boys noticed that some of these wore the khaki of british soldiers, which seemed to prove that a portion of general french's little army from across the channel must be valiantly holding a part of the thin line against the furious rushes of the disciplined german troops. the three boys took off their hats and waved them heartily as the procession of trucks passed by. some of the wounded answered them lustily, showing that their spirit had not been in the least quenched by their hard luck in getting in the way of hostile missiles. josh was burning with a feverish desire to be moving again. "why, judging from that," he told the others excitedly, as the last of the sad procession passed them by, heading possibly for some french town where a hospital had beds ready against their coming, "we must be almost in the riot by now. listen to how the guns keep up that whoop, will you? i'll bet you they're not more'n five miles away from here! rod, can't we push right along?" rod, however, realized that they must now begin to exercise a great deal of caution. no matter which side they happened to come upon, there was a fair chance of the three boys being held up, and not permitted to go any further. "keep on the lookout for some hill or other elevation, where we can get a good view of the neighborhood!" he told them, remembering former occasions when they had adopted a similar method for seeing operations. it was late in the day by now. they had come at a tremendous pace over scores and scores of miles, since that start at six o'clock in the morning. along about two in the afternoon josh had declared that his cyclometer was marking the hundred-and-fifty mark since beginning the day's run, which was a pretty good spin, all things considered. thanks to the excellent french highways, and the fact that they had met with no accident to detain them, this record could be hung up as one of which any fellow might be proud. it would be utterly impossible to describe all they saw while on that wonderful day's run. each of the boys had secured a little french tri-color, and this flag they took pride in attaching to their machines. it aroused the greatest enthusiasm all along the road. in every town they passed through they were taken for some new type of native soldiers mounted on motorcycles. that they did not carry any guns may have occasioned more or less surprise; but then doubtless they had other methods for destroying the rash invaders when the time came; small but powerful bombs would take up little space in a knapsack, every one knew. in the country sections where the neat french market gardens predominated they had found the women working amidst the crops, and few men in evidence. of course those of a military age were already called to the colors, and at that moment might be laying their lives down cheerfully in defence of their beloved land; for their old hatred of everything german had once more leaped to the surface as soon as war was declared. rod was trying to figure out what his course should be under the circumstances. he knew how difficult it must prove for them to reach a place where they could observe any of the desperate fighting. the best they might expect would be to see some detached action, and possibly learn where the french regiment might be found to which andre belonged. as they proceeded slowly along the road, after watching the procession of motor lorries loaded with wounded wind past, all of them were using their eyes to the best advantage. the country was hilly to the north of paris, rod knew, with many roads crossing in every direction. at any time they might expect to discover some movement of troops belonging to one of the armies engaged. this came to pass shortly afterwards, and when they found that it was a british regiment that was crossing a field on the double-quick, with guns ready for business, the boys sent up a real american cheer. "there, they've come to a halt, somehow or other!" said josh, "and listen to the fellows send back an answering cheer, will you? guess they must take us for some of their boys from over the channel. here comes an officer on horseback to interview us, rod." great was the surprise of the british colonel to find that they were not english boys at all, but cousins from the great republic across the ocean. he asked many questions while his men rested before continuing their movement, which was undoubtedly meant to carry out some purpose or other. one startling piece of information he gave the three motorcycle boys. "the germans have shot their bolt, and are retreating!" was what he declared in his hearty british way. "von kluck meant to take paris by surprise from the northwest, but he made a terrible mistake and left his flank uncovered. it was threatened by our british troops, as well as by a new army that came out of paris, sent by general gallieni, the commander of the city. there was nothing to be done but swing in a half circle past paris without coming within cannon shot of the forts. we are now about to strike with all our force, and beat him back on the marne. paris is saved for the time being!" this was the amazing news that thrilled the three boys through and through. in their minds it meant that the german tide had already reached its flood stage; and that from the hour von kluck changed his plans with regard to attacking the forts defending paris the campaign of invasion was fated to meet with its waterloo. josh actually shouted aloud to show his glee, nor did the grim british officer consider this any discourtesy. he himself was feeling in much the same humor, for victory was already in the air for the allies, and he knew what that would mean for the future of the whole of europe. after a very pleasant and interesting chat the three boys again mounted their machines, and set out. they had been warned by the accommodating officer that they might run into a nest of the enemy at almost any time now, for detachments of the germans were raiding the country, trying to inspire a reign of terror among the inhabitants. "if they can catch us," the confident josh had remarked in his customary boastful fashion, "they'll be welcome to our mounts. all the same we don't mean to let ourselves be taken off our guard. to be made prisoners just now would upset all our lovely plans, you see, colonel. but it's awful kind of you to give us the tip, and make sure we appreciate it." shortly afterwards rod announced that there was something of a hill ahead, and once they had managed to reach the crown they might find a chance to take an observation that would prove profitable to them. "drive ahead, then," chirped josh, always willing to do anything that came along, especially when it promised fresh excitement; possibly he was hoping that from the top of the low elevation they would be able to see many stirring dramas connected with the great battle that was now opening, and which must seal the fate of the french capital, one way or the other. "i'm going to slow up first," observed the cautious leader; "because we don't know what we may run on at the top of that hill. it'd be rough on us to suddenly come face to face with a whole battalion of germans, advancing up the other side, and reaching the crown just at the same time we did." "rod, you're right there!" josh was heard to call out almost instantly; "look up where we're heading, and you'll see the germans have got there even before we did!" all of them came to a sudden halt, and dropped off their motorcycles in a desperate hurry. chapter viii. out of the jaws of the trap. the summit of the low hill was not more than a quarter of a mile away from the spot where rod and his two chums had dismounted, to stare aghast at what was transpiring before their eyes. the hill was almost devoid of trees near its top, and a minute before they had taken note of the fact that the bushes stood out against the sky-line with nothing to interfere with the vision of an observer perched aloft. but now it seemed as though the whole hilltop were alive with moving figures. the declining sun glinted from hundreds of polished guns and bayonets. and clearly could the boys see that these men were garbed in the dun-colored uniforms distinguishing the kaiser's troops. "that settles our hash so far as getting a peek at the fighting goes," muttered josh discontentedly, for he always gave a cherished object up very lothfully. "oh! i wouldn't say that!" declared hanky panky; "there are other ways of doing it, you can wager. that hill yonder isn't the only pebble on the beach. what'll we do now, rod?" "get out of this, and in a hurry, too," snapped the other instantly. "we certainly can't keep on going forward, for a fact," admitted josh, still filled with gloom and disappointment; "those chaps'd gobble us up like fun, and it'd be good-bye to our bully wheels." "course they'd take us for britishers, from our khaki uniforms," admitted hanky panky; "and say, if they once got their hands on us they'd snatch all our papers away in a hurry. i'm counting on keeping that one our friend albert gave us, to show the boys over in old garland when we get back home; because they'll never believe half we expect to tell 'em if we don't have _some_ evidence to prove it." "huh! that isn't the worst by a long shot," continued josh. "don't you see our having those papers on our precious persons would make it look like we might be spies, working in the interest of belgium and france? you just better believe we don't want to be nabbed by the kaiser's men, not if we know what's good for us, and i reckon we do." "the worst is yet to come!" exclaimed rod just then; "look off there to the left and tell me what you see moving across those fields toward the road back of us." hardly had he said this than loud outcries arose from his two companions. "why, rod, they're whole regiments of the germans, and they're deploying so as to cut off our retreat, you see!" cried hanky panky, in a near panic. "i don't expect they've even noticed us as yet," rod went on to say; "but all the same if ever they do reach the road we'll be caught like rats in a trap." "looks like we might be between two fires," said josh, frowning savagely; "what can we do about it, rod?" it was second nature for the other fellows to depend on their leader whenever a knotty problem arose that needed solving. and seldom did rod disappoint their expectations. he came up smiling on the present occasion. "get turned around in a hurry!" he called out; "we've one chance in three to slip past before they get near the road. are you both game to try for it?" "sure!" bellowed josh; "try anything once, is my motto!" "i'll go where you lead, rod," was the simple but eloquent tribute which hanky panky paid the other; and rod must have felt deeply gratified to know he was able to inspire the hearts of his chums with so much confidence. "then let's get busy!" was all he told them. the rattle of the machines' exhausts instantly announced the start. rod led the way, with the others close behind him. he did not dread the soldiers who were upon the hilltop, even though every movement made by the fleeing motorcycle boys must be plainly seen by their observing eyes; for the distance was too great for them to expect to damage the mounts of the escaping enemy by any gunfire. it was the forces coming up on the double-quick to reach the road over which the three boys had so lately passed that aroused rod's greatest fears. he knew that with the speed of which the machines were capable they could manage to sweep past before the troops reached the road; but should the germans open fire on them the result might be disastrous indeed. hoping for the best, and ready to accept the desperate chances, they dashed along, every fellow bending low in his saddle from some instinct of self-preservation. it was a serious time for them, and with set teeth they hastened into the danger zone. now they approached the place where there would be the most peril from a volley fired by the oncoming soldiers, who of course ere now had seen them, and perhaps judged that they must be british scouts caught in a trap. rod had changed his mind. he suddenly remembered that there was a branch road leading off from the one they had come along. of course it was a blind move, because none of them could even give a guess where it went to; but if they took it they might manage to slip out of the dilemma into which the fortunes of war had thrown them. "be ready to follow me when i turn into a side road!" he called to the others. undoubtedly they heard him, though they gave no answering shout. it would have availed little, however, because just at that moment there was a savage burst of firing back in the direction of the hill, and many spent bullets dropped all around them, some even kicking up little clouds of dust as they fell on the road. rod turned in the saddle to see if there was any sign of his chums having been struck. so far all seemed well, for they were coming right along after him, and without any indication of having received even the slightest damage. the forks of the road were now close at hand. rod was never more delighted in his life than to realize this, for once they turned into this lesser thoroughfare he believed they would be protected by friendly trees from the gaze of those on the hilltop. a dreadful crash gave him another chilly feeling. he understood that it must be the explosion of a shrapnel shell, not more than fifty feet behind them. the gunner may have been on the hill with the gathering troops; but in calculating the distance he had failed to take into consideration the speed which the escaping boys were making. perhaps if given an opportunity to try a second shot he might be able to correct this error of judgment, and the next shell would burst directly over their heads. rod almost held his breath. he felt as though so much depended on the next twenty seconds of time, perhaps even the lives of his two brave comrades, as well as his own. then he arrived at the forks, and, making a detour, left the main road to plunge into the smaller thoroughfare. again rod looked back to assure himself that both of the other boys were as successful in turning as he had been. yes, there was josh, safe and sound, and hanky panky, wabbling a bit to be sure, but keeping a firm grip on his speeding machine had now managed to accomplish the deal. rod saw something suddenly explode on the road exactly where the forks came. he knew full well it must be that second shrapnel shell, and only for their sudden change of base, which the gunner had not calculated on, it must have burst so near hanky panky that he might have suffered seriously. the outlook was better, though it seemed as yet too early to count on security. rod kept a keen watch on what lay before him. he would not have been greatly surprised to discover more of the invading hosts appear in view at any second; for they were undoubtedly in the midst of a turning movement that had to do with the great battle opening up. when an army of between two and three hundred thousand men, like that of von kluck, the german commander, attempts a gigantic movement, it covers many miles of territory, rod understood. after proceeding in this manner for several miles his hopes grew stronger, and he actually felt as though there was a good chance for them to elude the enemy. josh was growling to himself, keenly disappointed because they seemed to be running away from where momentous things were taking place. the night was not far distant, and rod had to bear this fact in mind. where were they to secure anything to eat in the midst of all this turmoil and confusion? so far as a bed went they could do without, nor would it be the first time such a thing had happened in their eventful career. "looks as if we might have outrun the boches, rod," called josh, using a term he had heard some of the frenchmen apply toward the germans, though no one seemed able to explain where it had originated, or just what it meant, save that it was intended as a term of derision, the same as "yanks" and "johnny rebs" passed current during the civil war between the states. "yes, that's all very well," replied rod, "but it doesn't cut any figure when we try to run across a house where we're going to get our suppers, and find a place to sleep." "oh! we're sure to come to some sort of french farmer's place sooner or later!" declared the confident josh; "and if they're anything like the little woman who took care of us this noon it'll be a picnic." ten minutes later, as they were negotiating a bad section of the road, rod made an announcement that sent a wave of thanksgiving through the hearts of his chums. "farmhouse ahead half a mile or so," was the burden of his call; "i glimpsed it against that bright place in the sky. as the sun's already gone down we'll have to take our chances, and apply for lodging there." "i'm with you, rod!" called out josh immediately, while hanky panky added: "i only hope none of the enemy slip up in the night and gather us in, that's all." chapter ix. the night alarm. their arrival at the dooryard of the roadside farm was signalized by a frantic clatter. dogs barked, chickens squawked on their way to their roosts, ducks quacked, and even a calf tethered to a stake in the rear of the house set up a pitiful bleating, as if under the conviction that the dreaded butcher's cart had arrived, and the last hope of life now hung by a slender thread. "one thing i'm glad to see," announced josh, as they came to a halt amidst all this bustle and clamor. "what's that?" asked hanky panky, in duty bound. "the terrible germans have not come this way so far, that's sure," remarked the observing one. "i'd like you to tell us just how you know that?" demanded the other. "shucks! open your eyes, and look around you, my friend. would it stand to reason that a bunch of hungry soldiers, raiding through an enemy's country, could pass by, and allow all this fat of the land to exist? ducks, and chickens, and pigs, and calves would have gone to make up a german feast this night. and like as not the dogs would have been shot in cold blood because being french they had dared to bark at the uniforms of the kaiser's men." "guess you're right there, josh," admitted hanky panky, easily convinced when the evidence was there before his very eyes. "here are the good people of the house come to see what's broken loose to give their live stock such a scare," observed rod just then. a woman with a tottering, silver-haired old man just behind her, appeared around the corner of the low building. possibly they had been alarmed by hearing the splutter of the coming motorcycle brigade's machines, and hesitated about showing themselves. but when rod advanced toward them, making a courteous salute, and they saw what a frank boyish face he had, somehow they lost all fear. arrangements were soon made that assured the lads some sort of entertainment. that they were not the terrible germans was enough for the good woman of the farm house. in her mind the whole world was divided into two classes just then: enemies and friends; and all who did not have german blood in their veins she looked upon as naturally favoring the allies. the old man became quite solicitous concerning the safety of the splendid motorcycles. he even led the boys to where they might store them for the night. this receptacle turned out to be a sort of dry cave dug into the side of a mound. it was evidently a frost-proof receptacle for the potatoes and other vegetables raised for winter use, and had a good stout door, secured with a hasp. "there doesn't seem to be any sign of a lock here, boys," announced josh, after they had carefully deposited their machines inside and closed the door. "well," replied rod, "these people around here are so honest themselves that they never dream of anybody ever stealing a single thing. chances are you'll not find a lock or even a chain or a bar in all the house." "sounds all very nice," grumbled the suspicious josh, "but i'd sleep better, i'm thinking, if i knew the machines were under lock and key." "we could manage to make you a shake-down here in the potato bin if so be you felt disposed that way," suggested hanky panky blandly; but somehow the idea did not appear to appeal strongly to the other, for he snickered. "if the rest can stand it i oughtn't to worry," he grunted, and thus dismissed the subject apparently from his mind. later on they sat down to a pretty fine supper, which the good woman prepared for them. the hungry boys were ready to declare that while they had sampled all sorts of cookery since landing on european soil, from english and german to flemish, they really believed that the french excelled all others when it came to getting up tasteful dishes out of next to nothing. "no wonder they save so much money, and could pay off that billion dollars the germans exacted after the war of seventy-one," said josh confidentially. "they always say that a french family can live comfortably on what an american family would waste," added hanky panky; "and for one i believe it." rod, of course, started in to do the talking, but it was soon discovered that the woman could speak pretty fair english. great was the surprise of josh and hanky panky when she told them she had lived in the french quarter of new york as long as three years, some time back, before she was married. she proudly confessed that her two boys, as well as her husband, were in the ranks of the republic's patriotic army; and that even though she might never again see them, it would be a sacrifice for the land she loved with all her heart and soul; so that if the hated germans were only beaten, and france saved to posterity, she could reconcile herself even to the loss of all she possessed in the wide world. they sat up chatting until a reasonably late hour. then, as the boys were more or less tired after an exhausting day's ride they asked to be shown the apartment where they were to pass the night. it proved to be a room in a wing that had been recently added to the old farmhouse, with evidences of not yet being suitably furnished. still, all they wanted was a place to throw themselves down and rest. the night was warm, it being still summer, and little if any covers would be needed. here then they prepared to sleep. each of them removed their outer garments, as they had already done with regard to their leggings and shoes. josh poked his head out of a convenient open window to take an observation. he grunted as if pleased to know that from that point it was possible to see the mound of earth in which the potato cellar had been located. a wide double bed occupied one corner of the room. the good woman of the house had also fetched in a cot, which would serve admirably for the odd traveler. "it looks good to me," remarked hanky panky, after testing the big bed, and finding that it felt reasonably soft. "i reckon, rod, we'll let josh take the cot, because you know he's such a kicker when he dreams that nobody likes to stand for it." "only too glad of the chance to sleep alone," chuckled josh, apparently in no wise feeling hurt by the insinuation. so it was easily arranged, and in less than ten minutes afterward rod, being the last one up, blew out the candle that had been given to them, and sought his place in the big bed. if josh chose to lie awake for any length of time turning over matters in his active mind at least he did not make any sound calculated to disturb his companions. time passed on. rob was in the midst of a delightful dream of the far-away home across the sea when he felt some one gently shake him. as he instantly opened his eyes it all came back to him again in a flash, and he knew where he was; also that it must be josh who was again trying to draw his attention. "hello! what's up, josh?" asked rod quietly and without a trace of excitement, whereas a good many boys, upon being so suddenly aroused from a sound sleep would have sat up, trembling with alarm, and demanding to know in quivering tones what had happened. "something's going on outside here that we ought to look into," whispered josh. by this time hanky panky had been awakened, and heard the last words. "gee whiz! then the germans have come after all!" he was heard to mutter, as he started to feel around for his shoes. they hurried to the windows and looked out. just how josh had happened to awaken he did not take the trouble to inform the others; but they could see that something out of the common was occurring outside. a couple of lights that might be lanterns seemed to be moving this way and that, as though those who held the same were looking around the outhouses belonging to the farm. "get dressed, and in a hurry, too," said rob, after he had watched these moving lights for a minute or so. "then you think they must be the germans come after us, do you, rob?" asked hanky panky tremulously, as he started to dress as fast as he could in the semidarkness. "i don't know, but i mean to find out," he was told in low but incisive tones. they made all the haste possible. rob was ready some little time ahead of his comrades. this might be because he mastered his feelings better than either of the others, or else on account of having his possessions so carefully arranged before climbing into bed that he knew exactly where to lay a hand on each and every article in the dark. finally josh, and then hanky panky announced that he was all ready to issue forth. josh doubtless was figuring in his mind just how they might get the precious motorcycles out of the potato cellar unobserved, and ride wildly away before the searching germans suspected their presence. hanky panky on his part would have been almost willing to abandon the wheels rather than risk chances of falling into the hands of the invaders; for he had an idea they might be treated as spies, and dealt with in a summary fashion. the thought of being stood up against a barn and riddled with cruel bullets was uppermost in the boy's mind. there was a door leading from the new wing of the farmhouse to the outer air. rod softly opened this now, and led the way forth, the others trailing after him, confident that rod would know what line of action was best under the exciting conditions by which they were confronted. the first natural thing for them to do was to peer carefully around, in expectation of again locating the wandering lights. then josh uttered a low gasp, as his fingers plucked at rod's sleeve. "looky there, will you, rod?" he whispered, intensely excited; "they've run across the potato bin, and are going to take a peep inside!" "oh! my stars! it's all up with our poor wheels then!" hanky panky was heard to tell the others, though no one seemed to pay the slightest attention to him. there was no doubt about the situation being grave. the lights had by this time vanished within the vegetable cellar that had been built underground for frost protection in the cold winters. "come; let's creep forward and see what's happening," suggested rod boldly, as though after all he began to have slight hopes that it might not be quite as bad as they had been thinking. as they advanced hurriedly they soon began to catch the sound of several voices. evidently the searchers had been amazed to discover three such splendid motorcycles hidden away in a potato cellar on this farm; this was hardly what they had been looking for when using their lanterns so industriously. "too bad, too bad it had to happen!" whimpered the disconsolate hanky panky, for he had become so accustomed to spinning along on his reliable machine that the prospect of using "shank's mare" as a means of progressing did not appeal to him at all. "don't worry!" rod told him, "but listen again." "what's the use?" complained the other, "when i can't understand a single word of what's said, because it's french they're using." "french!" echoed josh, a little louder than prudence might have dictated, though in his new excitement he evidently did not consider that; "why, then after all it isn't the germans who've come snooping around looking for us." "what are they saying, rod?" asked hanky panky. "asking each other who can be the owners of these wonderful machines," replied rod, at the same time taking a step forward, as though meaning to enter the potato cave. "messieurs," he said, "pardon me, but those machines belong to us; and we are friends of france, we beg you to believe." chapter x. more news from the front. three men who wore the uniforms of french soldiers, one of whom was evidently a lieutenant, looked hastily up when rod entered the vegetable cellar, and addressed them in the words we have given. the ordinary soldiers carried guns, and these weapons they half raised, as though wishing to be ready for any emergency. of course, it was immediately manifest to the officer that these three wideawake lads were not of the enemy. like most other people he at first suspected them to be english boys. that would mean they were allies of the french; but nevertheless those splendid wheels were a great temptation; and the grand army was in sore need of all such means of rapid locomotion it could commandeer. "you are english, then?" he asked, politely, returning rod's salute. "no, american, monsieur," replied the boy, promptly; "we were making a trip down the rhine on our motorcycles when the war broke out. we had just managed to get across the line into poor belgium when the germans came. you can well understand that we have seen much of what happened in that unfortunate country, for we were compelled to go to antwerp on business." "but--this is france," interrupted the lieutenant, as though puzzled; "and here close to the firing line it is peculiar that we find three american boys mounted on such wonderfully fine motorcycles." rod smiled blandly. "you wonder how we managed to retain possession of them through it all," he went on to say; "but the secret lay in a certain magical paper which we carry, and which you shall yourself be permitted to examine." with that he once more carefully extracted the document given to them by the brave king of the belgians, and which had proved to be worth a thousand times its weight in gold. so the french lieutenant, by the light of the flickering lanterns, also read the brief but forceful sentences penned by king albert. he was of course greatly impressed, as who would not have been, remembering what a prominent figure the royal writer of the "pass" had already become in the world war? "it is plain to be seen, young monsieur," the officer hastened to say as he very carefully folded the precious paper, and with a bow returned it to the owner, "that you and your brave companions have found occasion to lend a helping hand to the grand cause for which all loyal frenchmen are ready to shed their last drop of blood. but i notice that here the writer speaks of _five_ young americans, and i see but three." "that is easily explained," replied rod; "two of our chums were compelled to return hastily to america, having received a cable message. they sailed from antwerp for london, and by now are far on the way across the atlantic." "but what possessed you three adventurous boys to wish to come once more to the scene of battle and carnage? it is hardly a fit place for lads of your age, i should think?" "but american boys are full of the spirit of adventure, monsieur," urged rod; "and the opportunity would surely never come to us again. still, it was not merely curiosity that caused us to decide to make this trip. we have come on an errand of mercy; to assist one of your countrywomen who was in great trouble." he thereupon hastily sketched the situation in which jeanne d'aubrey was placed, with a chance of securing a competence could her husband be communicated with, and allowed to sign the important paper within the specified time limit. a frenchman is always filled with a love for anything that borders on the dramatic. he also has the greatest respect for such heroism as these three boys were now exhibiting in undertaking the dangerous mission for the sake of the poor woman at whose humble home they had been temporary guests. impulsively he stretched out his hand to rod, and then to each of the other two boys. "i am proud to meet you, young messieurs," he announced; "and while these magnificent mounts would be put to a glorious use in the grand army that needs many such so badly, i could not have the heart to deprive you of your property. on account of what you have already done for the cause, and stand ready to aid any further attempt if the occasion arises, here then we hand you back your beloved motorcycles." while josh and hanky panky could not understand much that was spoken, still it was possible for them to read the signs aright. josh grinned as though greatly tickled over their good luck; and hanky on his part doubtless felt like offering thanks because the searching party had turned out to be friends instead of foes. when further conversation took place between rod and the lieutenant the boy was given to understand that the french had learned of the presence of a german spy in that neighborhood, and several patrols were searching every farmhouse and cottage within a radius of three miles, as well as the patches of woods that lay between. after considerable more talking the lieutenant explained that as there was more country which he and his detail had been directed to search, he must linger no longer. when the frenchmen had departed the boys once more sought their room in the new wing of the farmhouse. they had hardly reached their quarters than a timid knock on the door was heard, and the good woman of the house appeared, to ask with more or less trepidation if they had suffered any loss from the visit of her countrymen, whose uniforms she must have recognized. rod assured her that all was well with them, at which she seemed particularly pleased, and vanished from the scene. "well, after all it turned out to be a false alarm," ventured hanky panky, giving an exhibition of one of his fancy yawns; and really no boy could excel him when it came to stretching his mouth wide open, so josh always declared. "but it might have been serious, all right," asserted the latter. "our luck only caused them to be french instead of german. it was what you might call a narrow squeak, hanky panky; and only for my waking up when i did we'd have lost our property anyway." "we owe you our best thanks for your wakefulness, josh," rod told him. "oh! that's all right," laughed the other; "thanks to a bad dream i chanced to arouse myself, and caught the flicker of some sort of moving light out there. so of course i just tumbled out and made for the window. when i saw lanterns moving this way and that i began to think we were going to be in the soup; so, knowing you ought to be put in touch with the situation, i wakened you, rod." "by the way," hanky panky continued, "what was the lieutenant telling you all the time he kept on talking, rod?" "that's so," echoed josh immediately; "whatever it could have been it seemed to give him a whole lot of pleasure to be able to inform you, for he was smiling like everything, and i could see the pride sticking out of his face." "oh! i was asking him for the latest news from the battle front," replied rod, "and what he told me was great stuff, to be sure. it seems that what we heard before was part of the truth." "you mean how the german general von kluck, swinging down to attack paris from the northwest, didn't get within gunshot of the outer forts before he found he had exposed his flank, and it was in danger of being turned--was that it, rod?" and josh, who was intensely interested in all military matters, eagerly waited to hear the answer to his leading question. "just what happened," rod explained. "you see, a new army was hastily gotten together by general gallieni, the governor of paris, consisting for the most part of the regiments meant to defend the city. this, assisted by the british forces, was threatening the exposed flank of von kluck. if it struck hard it would throw his whole army into confusion, and start a rout. so instead of attacking the forts as he had intended, von kluck made a swift swing, and passed paris on the north." "and what did joffre do then?" asked josh. "the whole french army had been held for just such an opening. it was sent forward with impetuous speed to strike like an avalanche. the lieutenant said that already the blow had started to fall, and that there could be no doubt about the germans being in retreat, heading north again to positions they must have arranged for along the aisne river." "hurrah! that makes me sing for joy!" cried josh, exultantly; "then paris isn't going to fall like a ripe plum into the hands of the _invincible_ german army. they counted without their host that time, i guess." "much of the praise for what has happened goes to joffre because he kept his army intact and refused to risk a general engagement until he believed the time was ripe. when von kluck exposed his flank, and that new army came out of paris to threaten it, joffre knew the fatal hour was at hand. then he struck home, and already they are pushing the germans back along the marne with frightful slaughter." josh was so pleased with hearing this wonderful news that he went around and insisted on shaking hands with each of his chums. "why, i'm nearly as tickled over it as if it was washington that had been spared from the hand of the despoiler," he went on to say, hilariously; "those germans are learning something, it seems to me. they believed their army couldn't be beaten, but by now their commanders know there are others just as brave as germans--french, british, belgians, russians, yes, and americans too among the lot. i'll sure be able to sleep better after hearing that glorious news, rod." somehow they seemed to feel that their machines would not be disturbed again during the balance of that particular night, so fraught with big events for the people of imperiled france. all of them managed to get to sleep again without much trouble, and really knew nothing more until the sun shining in rod's face awoke him. they were soon dressed, and on entering the other part of the farmhouse found that breakfast was already under way. rod had to explain a lot of things to the old frenchman, who it seemed had not been awakened by what had occurred in the night, but had heard something of the event from his daughter. it was worth while to see how both of them smiled when they heard about the sudden change of plans of the german general, and that even then, when the big guns were once more commencing to speak in the distance, it marked the retreat of the rash invaders who had expected to take paris as easily as they had battered down the defences of liege and namur in belgium, with their wonderful forty-two centimetre cannon. the incident of the night, while at the time it had been quite thrilling, was already relegated to the past. rod and his chums had really been through so much that was exciting during the time they owned those motorcycles, that events of this type were only so many reminiscences, once they had passed. they had a bountiful breakfast, and then prepared to mount for another ride over the good roads lying north of the french capital. as usual hanky panky began to speculate on what they were fated to see or experience during that day. situated as they were, with warring armies near by, anything seemed possible. indeed, hanky could not venture to even give a guess as to what might come their way before the setting of another sun. "i only hope we manage to get on the track of the regiment that andre belongs to," he ventured to say as they made ready to depart; "and that we find him still in the land of the living. once we get that paper signed and witnessed, jeanne d'aubrey's future is made secure, no matter what happens to her husband afterwards; though we do hope he'll live to go back home, whole or crippled, as the fortunes of war decide. all ready here, rod, so give the word to get started!" chapter xi. help for the stranded one. "i'm as thirsty as a fish out of water, rod!" called out josh some time after they had started moving along the road; "must have been that ham we had for breakfast which was some salty, if fine. and unless i miss my guess there's a roadside spring ahead of us there. you can see that foot traveler taking a drink right now." rod had of course already noticed this for himself. possibly he would have given the stop signal, even had josh not pleaded with him to do so. they pulled up close by and dismounted. the man at the spring watched them with what seemed to be uncommon interest; but then that was not so strange, considering what splendid machines they were riding. a trio of such wheels must make almost any one take notice. josh surveyed the other curiously as they approached him. it seemed to the boy that he hardly looked like a native of the soil; for he wore clothes far better than the average french farmer could afford; and there was also something about his appearance that suggested his being a foreigner. to the astonishment of the boys he immediately addressed them in english. "your motorcycles i see are american made," he remarked; "and from that fact i guess you must be like myself from the other side of the ocean. it is strange that we should meet here in this war-stricken country." "then you are an american, too?" asked josh, before rod could say a word. "i am a naturalized citizen of your great and glorious republic," explained the man. "i was born in switzerland, but my people emigrated while i was a child. my name it is oscar william tell." "oh! you don't mean to tell me that you spring from the original william tell, the famous archer who defied the tyrant gessler, and shot the apple from the head of his own son?" cried hanky panky, in delight. "so i have been told," replied the other, modestly. "but just now i am more concerned how i may get out of this country of the fighting armies than what my dead and gone ancestors may have been. i have been caught napping, as they say, and for days now have been trying to reach paris, where i hope to secure some funds, and start back across the ocean to my far-away home." the boys exchanged glances. somehow, although the man had not as yet mentioned such a thing plainly, they could read between the lines, and understand that he was hinting about assistance. "we could supply you with the little money you may need to pay for your food until you get into paris," said rod, promptly. "that is indeed very kind of you," continued the other, eagerly, while his eyes fairly sparkled with satisfaction; "but my greatest need is to be helped on my way a few miles. my feet are so sore i can hardly walk; and i have been told that a short distance ahead there is a railway line over which i might get transportation to the french capital, which cannot be more than fifteen miles away at the most." josh lost no time in offering to take him along. he had often carried a passenger, and never had an accident thus far. had it been hanky panky now, or the still more clumsy rooster, the undertaking might have assumed a more serious aspect. "sure, you are welcome to a seat with me," he told the other, promptly, right from the depths of his generous heart; "that is, if you think you could hold on, and do the grand balance act." the man who claimed to be an american took him at his word so eagerly that there was no chance for josh to change his mind, even had he wanted to do so. "i'll accept that offer, my young friend, and with thanks," he announced. "yes, i have been on a motorcycle before now, so i trust you will not think i am endangering your safety. and it will be a great help to me if i can stay with you for a short time." the boys each took turns in securing the needed drink, while oscar curiously examined their machines. josh, once more a little suspicious, kept an eye on the other while this was going on. it may have suddenly occurred to him that since the man admitted a knowledge of riding on one of the machines possibly he might be seized with a sudden mad impulse to jump into the saddle and try to get away with a mount. nothing of the kind happened, however, and josh was doubtless a little ashamed of his suspicions. at any rate he went to some pains to let the other get seated behind him, as though to make amends for his secret thoughts. rod led the way again. so far as he could see there was nothing strange about the plight of the said oscar. hundreds of american tourists must have been caught stranded in strange lands when the war broke so suddenly; and when they finally reached home they would have all sorts of remarkable stories to tell concerning their experiences and sufferings. not all of them could have the great luck, like the motorcycle boys, to carry magical documents signed by the king of the heroic belgians, and calling on all the allies to favor the bearers as far as was possible. they covered several miles of the road. the thunder of the guns grew louder all the while, and rod fully expected to come upon marching regiments at any time, although the thoroughfare they were following seemed to be singularly free from troops heading toward the scene of the battle. there was no railway line in sight as yet, though they had covered much more than the distance mentioned by oscar tell. but then he may have been misinformed as to distances, which was always possible. in this fashion they came to a little rise which rod chose, as customary, to ride up slowly and carefully, not knowing what sort of a surprise might await them at the top. it was while they were proceeding toward the crown of the hill that josh suddenly found his machine toppling over. he did not know of any obstacle which he could have run across, for the road seemed absolutely free from stones and such things; and even as he struggled desperately to keep the heavy machine from smashing to the ground he felt a suspicion flash through his brain that in some manner his passenger might have been responsible for the unexpected catastrophe. both of them fell off, but beyond the shock, and perhaps a few minor scratches, josh was not hurt. indeed, boylike he immediately showed much more concern over a possible injury to his motorcycle than he gave any thought to himself. rod heard the crash, as well as the exclamation of dismay springing from hanky panky, who was put to some quick work in order to pull up in time to avoid running the unfortunates down. rod immediately reached the ground, and laying his machine down hurried back. "nothing serious, i hope, josh?" he inquired, hanky panky bustling around, while oscar was hopping up and down, as though he might have received a bruise on his leg that was painful to a degree. josh was frowning dreadfully. truth to tell his suspicions were growing stronger and stronger all the while; and he even believed the man to whom he had extended the courtesies of the road had purposely brought about the accident at such a particular moment when the fall would be apt to prove less serious than when they were whizzing along at twenty miles an hour. "i don't know yet whether the machine is knocked out of commission or not," muttered josh, disconsolately, as he proceeded to hastily examine into matters; "but it would be exasperating for us if that happened, just when we're close to the battle line, and want to get around so lively. hang the luck, i say!" he glared in the direction of the apparent cause of all the trouble; but as oscar was now raising his trouser leg, as if meaning to examine into the state of his own injuries, of course the look was wasted so far as he was concerned. rod frowned also. up to then he had not allowed himself to suspect that the so-called switzer-american could be other than he so frankly claimed; but somehow it began to dawn upon rod that there may have been a method in his madness. what if it were all a part of a deep-laid scheme calculated to delay them, for some dark purpose or other? the thought made him angry. now that it was too late he felt that they should have seen through the scheme of the other, when he asked to be given a lift on his way. he had claimed boldly to have such sore feet that he could hardly bear to stand his weight upon them; yet here he was now dancing around as lightly as any one could. "but what object could he have in view?" rod was asking himself, even while continuing to keep a cautious eye on oscar, though he pretended to be tending over josh, still examining his wheel. like a flash it shot through rod's mind that this same oscar might be in league with the man who was devoting all his talents and energies to the task of getting a certain paper out of their possession--jules baggott. he had already shown himself to be possessed of considerable skill at planning, and the story told by oscar may have all been made up out of whole cloth, just to cause them delay, and give the plotter another opportunity to rob them. it was well that these thoughts should have raced through rod's mind just then; for they caused him to take exact note of what the stranger was doing. josh chanced to be too busily engaged at the time to observe anything; as for hanky panky, really he was not to be depended on. and that his sudden suspicions were well founded rod presently had positive evidence. chapter xii. turning the tables. this was what happened! oscar had for the time being ceased to remember his bruised leg, and even his grunts had temporarily stopped, which would apparently indicate that after all his injuries were not so serious as he had made out. he was now industriously engaged in ridding his garments of some of the dust which they had accumulated at the time he and josh rolled over in the road. to the surprise of rod he even took out his handkerchief, and used this to wipe the sleeves of his coat. just then rod, out of the tail of his eye, noticed the fellow give a quick glance toward josh and hanky panky, both of whom were bending over the former's machine, anxiously examining to ascertain if it had really been much damaged. instinctively rod made out to be industriously looking at something of interest in the near distance. he even shaded his eyes with one hand, though at the same time he could manage to see oscar. it paid him well in the bargain, for he noticed that while dusting his coat as a dandy detesting all manner of dirt might, the said oscar also flirted that white handkerchief in a strange manner. then it suddenly dawned upon rod that the fellow was actually making some sort of signal to an unknown party further off. he used his eyes to advantage, for he immediately caught what seemed to be an answering wave from a patch of trees possibly three hundred yards away, and along the side of the rise! this complicated matters exceedingly. oscar, then, was a fraud of the first water. his story must be a tissue of lies from beginning to end. perhaps even his name had been assumed for a purpose, which was to entrap the three american boys. rod had to think very fast just then. a plan of campaign must be arranged on the spur of the moment, fitted to cover the case. of course he could not more than give a guess as to what it all meant, except that there was danger in the air for himself and chums. could the pretended swiss-american be in truth a german spy, bent on taking them prisoner for some mysterious reason or other? rod felt sure this could not be, for he had failed to detect a sign of the teutonic guttural in the voice of the other. in fact, rod was inclined to suspect him of being of french origin, for when speaking he had all the shrugs and grimaces which so often mark the natives of france, especially when excited, and making explanations. the three comrades were almost unarmed. knowing the constant peril of capture that menaced them, should they chance to run upon a squad of german soldiers, rod had decided that it would be the height of folly for them to carry firearms; for if found to be armed they were likely to be considered in the light of guerrillas, since they belonged to neither army as enlisted men. of course the three of them would easily be able to overcome oscar, who did not appear to be very brawny in build. but if he had accomplices near at hand even his capture might not prove sufficient to stave off the danger. rod conceived a better scheme than to simply overpower the suspect. why not make him a hostage for the good behavior of his associates? the idea seized hold of the boy, and in that instant he determined to put it into immediate practice. oscar would be surprised to find that his cunning plot had been seen through. in fact there would be others in the same fix, for rod could imagine the astonishment of josh and hanky panky, possibly utterly unsuspicious regarding the true course of events. it happened that rod had in his pocket a little tool shaped not unlike one of those modern automatic pistols that can be fired as fast as the finger presses the trigger. he believed this would answer his purpose admirably, and acting on the spur of the moment he immediately drew it forth. oscar was still very diligent with that handkerchief of his, switching it to and fro, as though determined that not a speck of dust should remain to mar the appearance of his garments. it would seem as though oscar must be an exquisite of the first water when on his native heath; though rod was more firmly convinced than ever that this was gay paree rather than cincinnati, ohio, which he had so boldly claimed as his home city. so rod, sauntering toward the other in an apparently idle fashion, suddenly came up behind him, and clapped the cold metal tool against the nape of oscar's neck, causing a shudder to pass through the other's whole system. "don't try to make a move or you are a dead man!" said rod, sternly; "i'll pull the trigger if you so much as turn your head this way!" "gee! whilikins!" exclaimed josh, whirling about; while hanky panky, taken completely by surprise, could only stand there and stare as though he imagined rod had suddenly taken leave of his senses, for up to that moment hanky had not entertained the slightest suspicion toward the man they were helping on his way. oscar apparently understood; at any rate he remained as motionless as though carved out of stone. his face went white, and his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, but he knew better than to risk having his poor brains blown out by an incautious movement. "your game is up, my friend!" said rod sternly. "i've been watching you send a message to some one with that handkerchief of yours. don't waste your breath to deny it. you have been trying to lead us into a trap, perhaps for the sake of helping your friend, jules. well, we are on to your game, and mean to block it. josh!" "on deck, rod!" exclaimed the one addressed, cheerily, with a wide grin decorating his face; for it amused him to see how after all rod had taken matters into his own hands, and turned the tables on the scoundrel. "you're getting to be a clever hand at playing the frisking act, josh," continued the leader of the trio; "suppose you look this chap over, and remove any deadly weapons you may find. i'll keep him still, dead or alive, while you do it." "i beg of you to be careful, young m'sieu!" gasped oscar, betraying his french origin in that unguarded moment; "i assure you i am not thinking of offering resistance; and it might be your finger it would slip, to my everlasting regret." josh lost no time in commencing work. as rod had said, of late the other had been having considerable experience at this sort of business, and boasted of being quite an expert. "whee! here's a nasty looking gun, rod!" he speedily announced. "hand it here, then, and i'll take possession of it," the other told him; "then keep on feeling in every pocket, josh." "some papers, rod--letters they look like," came another announcement presently. "give them to me; when i have time i'd like to look them over, and see if the hand of our friend jules is back of this game. hello! what's this. these letters are addressed to m. armand marchant, rue de rivoli, paris. quite a difference between that name and oscar william tell, eh? but i'm not surprised a whit. keep on looking, josh, especially for more ugly guns." apparently, however, that one weapon was all the man "toted," for no more could be discovered. "all right, then," said rod when his chum proclaimed the finish of his search; "i'll change to his own revolver, which i see is nicely loaded. it is more to be depended on than my own tool," with which remark he held the article in question before the eyes of the prisoner, who turned fiery red with confusion and anger, while josh and hanky panky burst into peals of laughter at the joke. "now listen to me," continued rod, sternly again, "you are to go with us over the rise here. remember you are a hostage for our safe conduct. if your friends attempt to attack us your life will be forfeited the first thing. so i'd advise you not to try and signal again, if you know what's good for you." "one thing i'm glad to tell you, rod," remarked josh; "which is that after all the damage to my machine isn't worth mentioning. i reckon he meant it to be put out of commission, and even took chances of getting hurt himself so as to accomplish it; but the whitcomb luck stuck by me, all right, all right. do you think you can move your machine along and attend to him at the same time, rod?" "oh! that's easily fixed," replied the other, cheerily, "because oscar is going to attend to the trundling act for me. it's the least he can do to make up for the bother he's given us. and his feet have gotten well in the bargain, just as if a miracle had been wrought. get busy, oscar, and start pushing uphill!" the man did not dare venture any protest. what was the use of his trying to plead weariness or a bruised leg when they knew that he was a fraud of the first water, and had, as josh would say, "tumbled to his game?" so he took hold of rod's heavy machine, and toiled manfully up the ascent. as he went he cast numerous anxious glances to the right and to the left; but rod understood now that these were not in hopes of seeing his confederates suddenly dash into view, since that would be the signal for his own troubles to begin; rather was the man mentally praying they would remain in hiding, having grasped the new state of affairs, which could not be to their liking. they reached the crown of the low hill, but did not linger there, for the position was too exposed. once down to the level again rod began to consider dropping the pilot, as they had no further need of his protecting services, with the road level and straight stretching away for miles ahead. chapter xiii. the field hospital. "do we get into our saddles again now, rod?" asked josh, as a halt was called. the other glanced around. so far as he could see there did not seem to be any reason for delaying their departure further. certainly any persons who may have been in ambush on the hillside could not have managed to get further along the road so as to waylay them. "yes, you start the ball rolling, josh; and hanky will follow. i'll keep our new friend engaged until you get going, when i'll start after you both." "then you expect to leave oscar here, do you, rod?" questioned josh. "oh! he'll find assistance, if his sore feet get to hurting him dreadfully again," replied the leader, whimsically. "but i'd advise him to sit down by the roadside, and not attempt to bother me any. he knows how well his gun is loaded; and i think i could hit that top button of his coat, even when on the move, the first clip!" oscar, as they would still have to call him for want of a better name, shrugged his shoulders at hearing this declaration. "believe me, young m'sieu, i do not mean to give you the chance. i know when i have enough. things have not gone to my liking at all. and this is a very comfortable seat, i assure you." he sat down and folded his hands while josh started off, hanky panky speedily following him, and calling back: "don't trust him too far, rod, please; really, i hardly like the look of his eye." "that's all right," laughed rod, unconcernedly, "oscar can't help his looks; but he knows enough to sit tight sometimes, and this is one of them." rod moved his machine far enough away from the seated man to prevent any possibility of the other playing him any treacherous trick. then he got himself ready to mount. even as he started off, holding the weapon still in his right hand so as to be in a position to use it on oscar, he had a glimpse of the fellow tumbling backward; and at the same instant his voice rang out in loud shouts. perhaps he was calling to his comrades, hoping to hasten their arrival so that they might yet cut off the flight of the last boy, who evidently had on his person the paper they were after. so rod passed down the road, with the late prisoner still whooping it up in the rear. taking a fleeting look behind him, rod could see that oscar had now managed to scramble to his feet, doubtless deeming the danger point passed. he was wildly accentuating his extravagant gestures by renewed shouting; and rod even imagined he could catch some movement further back, as though those who were being summoned might be hurrying to the spot. well, let them come. he and his two comrades could afford to laugh, because the game had turned so nicely in their favor after all. and then they were ahead one bulky revolver in the bargain. rod was at first tempted to toss this weapon away, but on second thoughts concluded to retain it for the present. that wily schemer jules baggott might have yet another ambuscade prepared for them a little further on, and such a tool was apt to come in handy in case of a surprise. although no mention has been made of the fact, because other stirring events continued to face the boys, they knew that they must be steadily drawing nearer the scene of warfare, because the roaring of big guns became more and more insistent with every mile they covered. it would not surprise rod in the least should they come in sight of some spirited action at almost any time now. realizing that it was his duty to be in the van at such a critical juncture, so as to occupy a position to decide on their course of action, he gave the signal so well known to the others, and which meant that they were to hold up. they were several miles away from the spot where oscar had been left in the lurch, so no danger hung over their heads from that source. rod soon explained just why he had called the temporary halt; and then once more the journey was resumed, this time in their regular order, with hanky panky bringing up the rear. rod knew they must be drawing near the bank of the marne, which river flowing from the east empties into the seine. he had been given to understand that it was along the banks of this river that the vast german host had retreated after their bold plan for taking paris had been frustrated, and their flanks were threatened by the allied forces. looking ahead when there came a more than usually fierce outburst of cannonading, he believed he could see where the battle was progressing, though the distance was still too great to make out which side manned the guns that were being fired. it was just then that in turning a bend of the road he suddenly came upon a most interesting sight, though at the same time it struck his soul with a feeling akin to awe, and sent a shiver through his frame. evidently a field hospital had been established in a spot where it was out of range of the german guns beyond. he saw numerous shelters of canvas, with busy surgeons and attendants, both men and women nurses. along the roads, and across the level fields were hurrying ambulances and vans of every description, each bearing its load of wounded picked up along the front. rod threw up his hand. it was the signal that he was about to stop, and wanted to let his chums know so that they might be prepared to follow suit. a few seconds later and they were at his side, gaping at the strange picture now spread before them. josh was going to have his dearest wish realized, for they had undoubtedly now reached the battle line, and could see some of the desperate charges and counter-charges attempted on both sides. the germans had evidently turned at bay in their great retreat, and were seeking to hold back the pursuit of the furious french, whose ardor was apt to carry them to desperate attempts to break that solid line of green-gray. hanky panky was almost holding his breath. he did not possess the same disposition that josh had, and all this dreadful suffering was apt to fill him with horror. still, he had a boy's ordinary share of curiosity, and might even be morbid enough to run so as to see an injured man in a railway accident, even if he came near fainting immediately afterwards. "it's a french field hospital, isn't it, rod?" asked josh. "there's no mistaking the tri-color flag that waves near the one with the red cross," replied the other, without the least hesitation. "oh! what a pity we lost our field glasses," continued josh, disconsolately. "we could never have such a splendid chance again to watch the play of a real battle like that going on over there; and it's a bit too far for the naked eye to get the full benefit of it all. i'd give everything i own for binoculars right now. rod, don't you think we might push on a little nearer the firing line?" rod shook his head in the negative. "the chances are we'd be rounded up in a hurry, and forced to turn back," he told the eager comrade. "as it is i'm surprised we've been able to get as close as we have right now. it's a part of our luck, i guess. but i was thinking that if we chose to go over to the field hospital perhaps after we'd made friends with some of the doctors and attendants, helped a little it might be, we'd find a chance to borrow a pair of binoculars from some one." "bully for you, rod; that sounds good to me!" exclaimed josh; while hanky panky gave a little gasp, and was heard to say almost helplessly: "oh! my stars, do we have to run smack into that hospital business, when often the sight of blood gives me the creeps, and makes my knees wobble?" "you can squat down right here, and stay if you want to, hanky panky," volunteered josh; whereat the other seemed to make a swift mental calculation, after which he shut his teeth firmly together, and went on to say resolutely: "i'm game if you both are; besides, something might happen to me here, if that miserable jules and his crowd came along the road back of us. yes, i'll go," but it could easily be seen that hanky panky was not taking any great pleasure in the outlook. they could use their machines for a short distance along the road; then it became necessary for them to dismount, break down a fence, and trundle the motorcycles across a field to where the temporary hospital had been established, in touch with the battle lines. motor vehicles were coming and going at speedy intervals. rod noticed that they all used another road, which evidently must be the direct course to paris, where the wounded heroes were being hurried after their injuries had received first care; because that is usually all a field hospital is intended to accomplish, staunching the flow of blood, and in other ways holding the spark of life until operations can be attempted further removed from the scene of action. every one inside the limits of the place seemed to be desperately busy. men were rushing this way and that with stretchers, carrying wounded soldiers back and forth. vehicles were coming and going, and these seemed of all descriptions, from the customary ambulance to big lorries run with a motor; and all of them bore the sign of the red cross on their sides, in order to protect them as much as possible from the fire of the enemy. it was in this manner therefore that the three motorcycle boys found themselves entering a new phase of their extraordinary adventures, and one that would doubtless never be forgotten, even when they found themselves once again safe in their distant homes. chapter xiv. where the battle of the marne raged. "look, an aeroplane coming this way!" exclaimed hanky panky, pointing upwards. "if you glance off yonder," added josh, "you'll see more than one of the same. they're hanging over the battle lines, and i guess sending signals back to tell what the observer notes from his perch away up aloft." "just what they're doing, josh," rod went on to say, as he stopped for a brief time to take a look in the direction indicated. in fact, they could make out as many as half a dozen of the fliers, some darting about as swift as swallows on the wing, others more stationary, and evidently with the operators busily engaged transmitting signals. "there, see that one dropping something white!" cried hanky panky; "chances are he's giving the gunners on his side a tip, so they can get the range of the german battery, and put it out of action with a volley." "and there's going to be something doing pretty soon, or i miss my guess," added josh, excitedly; "because there comes a pair of those taube machines bent on giving the french ones battle. rod, we're going to watch a fight in the sky, don't you see? whee! but this _is_ the life, take it from me. i never dreamed i'd be so lucky as to be right on the lines when a big battle was taking place." the pair of taube machines came swiftly along to engage the rival aeroplanes that had been making so free with the secrets of the german defences. evidently the aviators had been ordered to put a stop to the operations of the french pilots, no matter at what cost to themselves. "they're shooting at each other now!" cried josh; "you can see the puffs of smoke break out every second; and it's different from the bursting of shrapnel shells all around them." "gee! whiz! but this is awfully exciting!" gasped hanky panky, stretching his neck still more in order to follow the swift evolutions of the rival air machines; "what if one of them has the hard luck to get his motor smashed by a ball; or his gasoline tank exploded?" "that'd be a bad thing for the men in the aeroplane, i should say!" josh informed him. "they must be all of half a mile high, and a fall would flatten a poor chump out like a pancake." "there's one of the germans turning tail right now and running away!" called out hanky panky; "and the other--why, see how queer that machine is acting, will you? it keeps turning around like a corkscrew, and seems to be dropping all the while." "a good reason, too," snapped josh. "french guns proved superior to the kaiser's, for they did some damage. that taube is falling! only for the skill of the two men aboard it'd be coming down right now like the stick of a spent rocket, or a meteor aiming to strike the earth." all of them watched the erratic course of the disabled aeroplane with the keenest interest. indeed, the valiant pilot certainly deserved a great deal of praise for the way in which he manipulated his charge. at the same time the taube was going to strike the earth with a severe blow. "i wouldn't like to be aboard that poor craft, let me tell you," said hanky panky, as it neared the earth, not far back of the french front; "the people in it are going to get broken arms or legs, and the machine will be smashed in pieces." "huh! they'll call themselves lucky if it ends at that," snorted josh; "some men would have their necks or backs broken; but these german aviators are a tough lot, i've heard, and can stand a heap of pounding." even as they looked the wrecked taube struck the ground. some soldiers had hastened in that direction, and were on the spot almost as soon as the disabled german machine landed. they could be seen moving about amidst the wreckage of the aeroplane. then they appeared carrying something in their midst. "they've picked up the occupants of the fallen taube," said rod, "and from the way they carry them the poor chaps must be badly hurt. yes, there they've stopped that ambulance coming from the front, and are getting the wounded birdmen aboard. the french admire bravery, even in a mortal foe, and you can be sure that those gallant fellows will receive just as good care as if they were their own men." he again started to move forward. the field hospital was now close at hand, and they could expect to be within its borders in a few minutes more. hanky panky nerved himself for the terrible ordeal he knew was before him. both the other lads also shut their lips firmly, so that they might endure the gruesome sights without feeling faint; for they were not accustomed to such things, and but boys after all. some of those they met eyed them in wonder, doubtless at a loss to know who the three youngsters were, and what brought them to the battle lines. no one seemed to think of stopping them and asking questions; it might be from lack of time. whenever rod noticed some officer near by he gave the regulation salute, which may have induced the others to believe the boys actually belonged to some branch of the service; though their khaki uniforms would rather indicate a connection with the british army just then co-operating with general joffre. the boys had just succeeded in stacking their machines when an opportunity came that allowed them to render assistance in carrying several poor fellows into one of the tent shelters. a lorry had arrived, and there did not seem to be any attendant on hand to help the driver, who looked around in despair. "come along, josh, and lend a hand here!" exclaimed rod, equal to any emergency, as he sprang forward. hanky panky started, but soon held back, unable to bear the sight of the wounded men who were in the motor truck. the two boys succeeded in carrying three of them inside the shelter, where they were placed as comfortably as possible, awaiting the time when the bustling surgeon, engaged with other cases, could attend to their hurts. one of them was in a very bad way, having been terribly injured by a bursting shell. it pierced rod's sympathetic heart just to look at his white, blood-specked face. but the black eyes were still full of fire and animation; and when rod held a dipper of cold water to the lips of the soldier of the republic the other drank greedily, and then thanked him in french. "it may be the last drink i shall ever want," he told rod complacently, "but i rejoice to know i have lived to see the day when a french army has made the german beast turn tail and run. my father died before paris many years ago, and i have prayed for this glorious day to come. i am satisfied. i have done my duty to france." it made a powerful impression on both the boys. such bravery and devotion to country could hardly fail to do otherwise. secretly they hoped the valiant soldier might survive his terrible injuries, and live to see the day when victory crowned the tri-color of france, which he adored. the busy surgeon now found a chance to pay attention to the later victims of german bullets and bursting shells and bombs. at the same time he started a conversation with rod, the latter being the only one of the boys who could speak french. presently rod turned again to josh to say: "here's a streak of luck for us, josh. just as soon as he's through with the case he's now working on, the gentleman, dr. gervaise, is going to loan us his binoculars. he also says there is a slight elevation twenty yards back of this shelter, from the top of which we can get a pretty fair view of the battle lines. from what he tells me i figure we'll be just in good time to witness something that is going to take place before long." of course this pleased josh exceedingly, because it was a field-glass he had been yearning for ever since they found themselves within touch of the field of battle. he even tried to assist the wearied army surgeon as best he might, for josh had an abundance of nerve, and could accustom himself to almost any sight if he had a motive controlling his actions. presently, armed with the lemaire binoculars, rod led the way out of the temporary shelter under which the victims of the fierce fighting could be shielded from the hot september sun while the principle of "first aid to the injured" was being applied. hanky panky was lingering near by, watching some of the interesting sights, and evidently finding it a difficult thing to retain a firm grip on himself. he greeted the reappearance of his chums with eagerness. perhaps he even hoped that they meant to quit the confines of the field hospital, and depart to other regions. at sight of the field-glasses which rod waved at him hanky understood, however, just why they were hurrying toward that elevation close by; and he trotted at their heels as an obedient little spaniel might have done. once they reached the summit of the rise it was found that the french surgeon had not overstated the fact when saying that a very good view of the battle lines could be obtained from this point. rod took a look and then handed the glasses over to josh, knowing how eager the other was to see at close range what was going on over where the big guns were thundering so fiercely--where also the french lay in hiding, ready to again charge desperately upon the german trenches when the word to advance was given. the ground between the hostile armies was covered with the fallen. josh shivered as he contemplated the terrible spectacle. it would doubtless haunt him for many a day and night to come. he looked everywhere, not even omitting to glance upward so as to see what the flying birdmen might be doing; then he handed the binoculars over to hanky panky, who received them eagerly, despite his sensation of horror. when hanky panky leveled the glasses at the distant line of hastily thrown up german trenches the first thing he saw was what seemed to be an innumerable army of men in drab working feverishly to strengthen their defences. already they had tasted of the new-born french enthusiasm, and could anticipate that much more of the same sort was bound to break loose. long years had those fiery gauls been hugging to their hearts the thought of revenge for the humiliation suffered away back in '71, when their beloved paris echoed to the tramp of the victorious teutonic hosts. they began to believe the day had dawned at last when the shame of their fathers could be wiped out, and the tables turned on the hated foe. how hanky panky did turn from one point to another and "soak" it all in, as josh remarked aside to rod, impatiently waiting for a second chance to observe what was going on over there beyond the windrows of the dead. it seemed as though hanky panky could not tear his eyes away from the amazing sight which fairly fascinated him. as though held in the grip of a nightmare the boy was staring and muttering to himself. sometimes his words signified wonder and awe; then again there was an underlying vein of compassion in what hanky panky said; for his heart was greatly touched by the sight of all this terrible misery. he could see some of the forms on the late battlefield moving. he realized that men in anguish must be calling out for a drink of cooling water so as to quench their burning thirst. others were doubtless suffering all sorts of tortures from the wounds they had received. to be sure the hospital attendants were doing everything they could to gather up the wounded. men bearing the sacred red cross, from both the french and the german sides, were moving about, searching for those in whom life still remained. vehicles could also be seen in places, receiving some of these victims, while the men with stretchers stumbled about carrying their groaning burdens to the rear. yes, hanky panky would never forget what he saw that day, though he lived to a ripe old age, for it was burned upon his memory indelibly. josh, getting impatient, was just about to demand the binoculars when the other uttered a sudden cry that gave them a new thrill: "oh! see what's going to happen now, will you, fellows?" was the burden of his announcement; "there's a new french army hurrying up to attack them on the flank; and they've given the signal for a general advance. great snakes! but it's going to be an _aw_ful sight when they come to close grips!" chapter xv. the taking of the german trenches. that was too much for josh to stand. he had been at the point of rebellion before, and this was the "last straw that broke the camel's back." he snatched the glasses from the trembling hand of his comrade almost rudely, though perhaps josh did not mean it that way, only he was fearfully excited. of course rod could see something of what was transpiring, even without the aid of the binoculars, though they were bound to be a great help. he had immediately turned his gaze upon the spot indicated, and discovered that what hanky panky called out was true. a great mass of men clad in the regulation french uniform came rushing forward from the left quarter. guns were fast starting up here, there, everywhere, to rain a perfect hail of shells on the german line, so as to prevent the defenders from springing forward to meet the new attack. at the same time those frenchmen lying concealed in front also sprang to do their part of the work. the air was rent with shouts from thousands of throats, though the tattoo of the guns became so insistent that even this sounded faintly, as rain might on the roof between thunder-claps. riveted to the spot with the wonder of the spectacle, which they had never dreamed would fall to their vision, the three boys stood there, unable to speak a single word. indeed, with all that frightful noise going on speech was next door to folly, and they wisely held their breath. the germans had anticipated just such an assault, no doubt, for it was along their flank that they had been so industriously throwing up new entrenchments at the time rod and his chums first sighted them. they had not been given sufficient time, however, to get more than half prepared when the mighty blow fell. those enthusiastic frenchmen, realizing that they had von kluck's army finally on the run, did not mean to lose any of their advantage by unnecessary delay. they could not be held in, even had their officers wished to attempt such a thing. rod indeed was reminded of the impetuous charge of hounds, once they were released from the leash. it was all very plain to rod, who was a boy with a long head. he knew that when the vast german host had advanced so steadily toward paris, sweeping everything out of their path with such apparent ease, they had certainly brought along with them many great siege guns, with which to batter down the forts defending the city. some of these were the famous forty-two centimetre guns which had proved at liege and namur that no modern fort could hold out against the enormous weight of metal they were capable of dropping, almost vertically, on the works, from a distance of many miles. then when the sudden alteration came about in the plans of von kluck, and his army turned aside from paris so as to save its exposed flank, the one thought in the mind of the general was to save those wonderful guns, without which all his work would be for naught. it was for this purpose that these desperate rearguard actions were being undertaken by the retreating germans. some of the big guns were drawn by traction engines, and their progress even over good roads must necessarily be very slow. to enable them to be transported to the positions already prepared along the aisne river, looking to a possible retreat, the victorious french had to be kept at bay. so tens of thousands of teutons must fall during those bitter days in order that the krupp guns might be saved to the cause. manfully they stood up to their task. there was not a sign of wavering as they met the furious charge of the french, who seemed determined on thrusting the enemy out of their newly made trenches at the point of the bayonet. josh, remembering how he had felt a brief time before, presently gave a sigh and reluctantly handed the glasses over to rod. the latter gladly received them, and without a second's delay proceeded to glue his eyes to the smaller end. it was like a living picture of other battles that rod remembered seeing, done in colors; but the realization that this was the _real_ thing he now gazed on so entranced thrilled him again and again. backed by every gun that could be brought to bear upon the german front, the living stream of blue and red-clad french soldiers, men of the line, zouaves, chasseurs and all, plunged madly along. little they recked that many fell by the way under the storm of missiles that belched from the hostile trenches; the lines closed over the gaps almost mechanically, and only the figures that dotted the field after their passage told of the terrible price with which the action was accompanied. now they were close up to the trenches, and some even leaping over the redoubt, to grapple hand to hand with those who so desperately defended it. brave though they were, the french had been so decimated in their mad rush that it seemed as though there could not be enough of them left to overcome the resistance of the defenders of the works. it was while rod was filled with this sense of anxiety that he noticed something calculated to arouse new hope; for somehow he found himself in sympathy with the french soldiers, perhaps because they had been the under dog in the other war, when their fair country was overrun by bismarck's armies. the wise french commander-in-chief, possibly general joffre himself, had seen to it that reserves were on hand to take up the fight after the first line had hewn a way into the hostile trenches. yes, there they came along like a serried mass, or the waters bursting from a vast reservoir after the dam has been broken. he saw the living wave strike the first embankment and pass over. he knew what terrible work must be going on beyond that thrown-up earth, for in bayonet work the french have ever been without a rival. he pitied the germans who were trying to hold the first line of trenches so valiantly, for they would mostly be either killed, wounded, or taken prisoner. the french guns still roared unceasingly, though that part of the great marne battle was already as good as won. now their exploding missiles were being hurled further on, so as to add to the perplexities of the hurriedly retreating germans, making for the next line of trenches, which in turn would doubtless be just as stubbornly defended. josh it was now who used the glasses. as a rule josh had always been reckoned a generous fellow, sharing alike with his friends; but to-day a spirit of greed possessed him. there was hanky panky, who really shrank from such scenes as a battle--why bother paying any attention to him when there was only a single pair of binoculars to go around? indeed, hanky panky made no further claim on the precious glasses; evidently he had seen enough and more than enough as it was, to satisfy his ambition. he was staring toward those figures dotting the new field, and his lips kept moving as though he might be uttering words of commiseration, though of course what he said could not be heard above the universal clamor that continued with unabated vigor. gradually, though, the racket began to slacken, as though word had gone forth that the pursuit of the retiring foe must be temporarily abandoned. victory had perched on the banner of the defenders of the soil; the lilies of france had swept proudly over the trenches of the foe; still further back from the imperiled capital had the host of von kluck been pushed, but all gained at a terrible cost. so the guns began to cease firing. new positions must now be taken up so as to continue the good work. everywhere the germans would be pressed back and back until possibly the ardent french believed they would be forced to retreat to the rhine. and now new features began to appear upon the field that had so lately been the scene of a fearful engagement. batches of dejected looking prisoners were being convoyed to the rear, stout-looking young fellows as a rule; for in the early months of the great war the german army consisted of the pick of the whole empire, every soldier being an almost perfect specimen of physical manhood. later on, when havoc had been made in their ranks by continuous engagements, younger and older reserves would begin to make their appearance to fill the gaps. then again did the french red cross attendants with their handy stretchers begin to reap the harvest of the battle. of germans there were none, for since their side had been compelled to retreat so hastily most of their hospital corps had accompanied them, leaving to the victors the double task of caring for the wounded of both armies. when rod, again with the glasses, saw how the french attendants did not discriminate in favor of their own men, but took them just as they came, a german even before a frenchman, he realized the spirit of brotherly love that really exists between the common people of all countries, even though by force of circumstances they may be compelled to face each other in deadly carnage for the faults of politicians or kings. well, it was all over now, but the binding up of wounds and the sad burial of the many who had fallen. the invaders had been pushed still further back, and their hopes of taking paris received an apparently fatal blow. "josh, you can never again say that you haven't seen a real battle," remarked rod, as they made their way back toward the shelter where the almost exhausted surgeon, aided by his assistants, would now have to start in afresh with the incoming of another batch of cases needing immediate attention. "i'm satisfied," replied josh in a suppressed manner; "and between us both, rod, i want to own up that i hope i'll never have another chance to look on such a terrible sight; though remember, i wouldn't have missed it for a whole lot." chapter xvi. a sudden surprise. although the three lads had already performed an amount of labor that would have considerably astonished their home folks, could they have witnessed it, and filled them all with pride in the bargain, they were not yet through, it seemed. "here's plenty more for us to do, fellows," suggested rod, as they reached the canvas shelter tent, where the procession of stretchers was beginning to arrive, each with its sad burden. "i'm willing to help all i can," said hanky panky, trying to look as though he could stand anything after what he had passed through. indeed there was need of assistance. two other field hospitals had already been established not far away, since the subjects were many times more numerous now that germans as well as french were beginning to be brought in for treatment. and a steady string of ambulances and motor lorries would soon start to taking the wounded in the direction of paris, where they could be better attended to. so for at least two hours the three brave-hearted american boys stood up to the work to which none of them were accustomed. they certainly, in that space of time, earned the everlasting gratitude of the nation whose sons they assisted in their time of need. rod was interested in several germans who had been taken prisoners, slightly wounded. he entered into conversation with one of them, and managed to learn more of the other side of the contention than he had known before. finally even the willing josh was heard to declare that he had about reached the limit of his endurance, while hanky panky looked ready to drop. "we've got to get away from here, rod," josh was saying; "after all we're only boys, and this is a terrible experience for us. our chum is nearly done up; and as for myself i admit that i'm getting shaky." rod himself had to confess that they ought to be making a move. the worst of the bringing in of the wounded was over by now, and besides, more attendants were on hand to look after things. "that's all right, boys," he assured his chums, "we've done our level best to be of some help to our friends, the french; and now it's only fair we should start in looking after our own affairs again." "i've noticed you talking with a number of men besides our surgeon friend, rod; have you picked up any sort of information that'd be of use to us?" demanded the other shrewdly, guessing what their leader must have had in mind. "something that may turn out to be worth while," came the reply. "meaning you've struck a clue about the regiment to which andre belongs--is that what it is?" continued josh. "yes, and of course it'll be our object to run across the same as soon as we can," he was told; "because it's beginning to strike me that we ought to get away from this war-stricken country. we've seen things that few boys ever could run across--things that'll haunt us for a long time, i'm afraid." "i'm glad to hear you say that, rod," remarked hanky panky, white of face after his recent experiences; indeed, it was mostly on account of this comrade that rod had made up his mind not to linger in that region an hour after their mission had been accomplished. "there's another thing i want to tell you, fellows, which is a bit more cheerful, i'm glad to say," continued rod. "our supply of petrol is nearly exhausted, you must know, and getting another lot at a time like this might prove a pretty tough proposition." "i was just thinking about that!" declared josh, "and had it on the tip of my tongue to ask you what we ought to do about it." "well, fortunately it's been made easy," rod informed him; "our good friend, the army surgeon, has given me a paper that will allow us to replenish our tanks at the general supply station which i've already located. he said it was little enough in recognition of the work we've been doing." both the other boys declared that it was a splendid thing, and congratulated rod on his forethought in looking out for the necessary supplies. without liquid fuel with which to drive their speedy motorcycles they would find themselves in a "serious pickle," as josh said; for every gallon in the whole country had undoubtedly been seized by the military authorities--that is, what little the germans had not discovered and confiscated while passing through. accordingly their first labor was to proceed to the tank, present the order given by the surgeon, who actually ruled the field hospital, and the man in charge readily allowed them to refill their reservoirs with the precious liquid. it was with a thankful heart that hanky panky finally turned his back on the field hospital. he had passed through so many painful experiences since striking that place he felt as though his nerves had been badly rattled. after the late battle a strange calm seemed to have settled down again. doubtless both sides were replenishing their stock of ammunition and getting in readiness for the next upheaval; for the french would never cease to attack as long as they knew they had the enemy "on the run," and that it was french soil those detestable german boots were still pressing. rod had figured things out as best he could. the wearied army surgeons had also been able to give him a few pointers that might prove of value. as they progressed they could no longer say that they had the road to themselves. a score of different sights were before their eyes much of the time, consisting for the most part of vehicles bearing the wounded heroes far to the rear; other empty ones hurrying forward to secure their loads; detachments of sullen prisoners being taken under guard to a detention camp; squads of french soldiers bent upon some duty; here a belated regiment hastening forward, eager to be in at the next furious engagement; peasants standing in the doorways of their cottages watching all that went on, and laughing with the passersby, because victory was in the air for france, and it mattered little that they had lost all their live stock when the german hosts trooped by, if only the "day" they had long prayed for had indeed arrived. so the motorcycle boys had to pick their way along now; it could no longer be said of them that they fairly "flew" over the road. besides the numerous obstructions in the shape of vehicles coming and going, there were many ragged holes to be encountered, where mighty shells had fallen and exploded, forming craters that had to be carefully negotiated lest the riders meet with a serious catastrophe. besides this, all along the way they discovered such cast-off material as the retreating german army had discarded in order to hasten their march--broken caissons and guns that had been rendered temporarily useless by reason of some accident; stocks of provisions that could not be carried; cooking outfits that were the most complete affairs the boys had ever seen; and many other things which could not be safely carried off by an army that was being hourly harassed by a fierce and unrelenting foe. the day had worn on while they were in the field hospital so that it was now getting well along in the afternoon. rod knew they would soon have to be thinking of seeking some sort of shelter for the night. he was more particular about this because clouds had come up, and there seemed a chance that rain would follow, as often happens immediately after a great battle has been fought in which there is much cannon firing and consequent concussion of the atmosphere. at noon they had shared the meagre lunch of the noble french army surgeon, who had conceived such an ardent admiration for the trio of young americans. josh was already heard saying that he felt as hungry as a tramp who had been walking the railroad ties from early morning; and hoping that they would be lucky enough to soon strike a house where a meal might be secured. this was what rod had in mind when ahead of him he discovered signs of a pretty little french village. his hopes mounted higher because from the evidence before them it seemed plain that the retreating germans had somehow managed to pass around this small place, so that there was a pretty good chance they would find a hospitable woman there, who, after learning that they had been assisting in the field, would be only too proud to cook them a meal, and it might be allow them to sleep in her house. "i'd be willing to occupy a shed, or even a dog-kennel so long as it didn't have a french poodle occupant," hanky panky had solemnly said, when they talked this over at the last crossroads, as they stopped a short time to confer upon their plan of campaign. their coming created quite a little furore in the village, for being off the main road to paris the good people here had as yet not learned what wonderful success general joffre was meeting with in his attempt to force the stubborn enemy back toward the rhine country. the boys were soon surrounded by a throng of women and children, with a smattering of very old men. apparently there was not a single able-bodied man left in the place, every one having gone to join the colors and defend the capital. rod was kept busy telling some of the grand things that had happened miles away, where the roll of the great guns had been sounding so long, bringing terror to the faithful hearts of the good people. how they shouted and even embraced each other as they learned what measure of success was coming to their army. one and all they were now positive that their wonderful commander would never give up the pursuit until he actually dictated terms of peace before the walls of berlin itself. when rod modestly mentioned the fact that he and his two chums were hungry they immediately received a dozen offers of accommodation and supper. every house in the village belonged to them, and they were at liberty to ask for anything they wanted. rod, however, used a little discretion. he did not in the first place want to be separated from his chums, and this meant they must choose some house capable of entertaining them all. in the end he selected for their hostess a middle-aged woman who looked prosperous and capable of attending to their wants without robbing herself. the three motorcycles were stacked in the yard close by, where they continued to attract the attention of every boy, big or small, in the village. rod was not in the least afraid to leave them. he knew full well that there was not any chance of the machines being tampered with; for those french boys seemed well behaved. he wondered what would happen over at his home town of garland, where such fellows as oscar griffin, gid collins and their like loved to play all manner of tricks and practical jokes, regardless of other people's feelings. comfortably seated inside the house rod and his chums awaited the call to supper. they could get tantalizing whiffs of the food that was being prepared for their consumption as the odors crept in from the kitchen; and josh several times privately declared he did not see how he was going to stand that sort of thing much longer, for it was making him fairly frantic, he was so ravenous. rod was figuring on where the three motorcycles should be placed for the night, and had already made up his mind to ask if they could be brought into the house; because while the good people of the village might all be as honest as the day, stragglers from the army were apt to come along who might feel like helping themselves to a "good thing" when they found it so convenient. it was just at this moment, when they were expecting to be called into the dining-room to sit down at the bountiful feast provided, that, without the least warning, a bombshell seemed to drop among them. shouts were heard without, and as the three boys sprang to their feet they looked at each other in sudden anxiety. "what are they yelling about, rod?" begged hanky panky. "they say the uhlans are coming down on us, and are already close to the place!" was the startling declaration of the one who understood french. chapter xvii. behind the barricade. "such tough luck, and just when supper was going to be called, too!" groaned josh, though possibly he did not mean to be at all humorous, but was only expressing the first natural feeling of bitter disappointment that beset him. rod realized that it was a time for quick thinking, and rapid action as well. no matter if the raiding uhlans proved to be only a small detachment bent on striking terror to the hearts of the french, while their main army was still retreating toward the aisne, they would be in numbers sufficient to awe the village, where only women and boys and aged men were to be found. he also knew that the three fine motorcycles owned by himself and chums would be either confiscated or destroyed by the german cavalrymen. uhlans have always been accredited with bold and reckless deeds whenever engaged in warfare in the enemy's country. they would find incriminating papers, too, upon the boys, and might even take it in their hands to treat them as spies. "get busy, fellows; we must fetch our machines indoors and close shop to keep the enemy out, if we can!" was what rod called, as he hastened to run from the room. just then a bell tinkled somewhere near by, apparently to summon them to the supper table; but much to the deep regret of josh they were hardly in a condition to respond to the alluring call. each of them came staggering in, trundling a heavy machine. these they stacked in a room, after which the outer door was shut and secured in the best way possible, though not before a number of people had crowded in with them. out on the village street the greatest excitement prevailed. children cried, women called to one another as they hurried their innocent charges homeward; even the stray dogs started barking again, just as they had done when rod and his friends hit the place with their buzzing motorcycles. above other sounds they could hear loud and heavy voices, as of men bent on terrorizing the peaceful little community. of course the words they heard were german ones, showing that the speakers must indeed be the dreaded uhlans. they were undoubtedly galloping hither and thither, ransacking houses in search of food or anything else worth carrying off. it might be that presently some of them would even be found putting the torch to any building that failed to meet with their approval, after a hasty search. rod suddenly remembered something just then. it struck him forcibly, and the more he considered it the stronger did it seem to appeal to him. he recollected that they had come upon a regiment of french zouaves making a temporary bivouac alongside the road about two miles back. if only they could be communicated with and informed of the presence of the hated uhlans in the little french village, he felt positive they would not let the grass grow under their feet in hastening to the rescue of the small terrorized community. but how could it be done? rod would have given considerable for a chance to use his speedy motorcycle in this work, but there was no use thinking of such a thing, because it could never be carried out. perhaps from the roof of the house he might manage to attract the attention of some sentry at the camp, and by means of the signal corps code, which he knew very well, communicate their sad condition to the commander of the troops, and thus procure help for the frightened villagers. "stay here, and try to keep them out if they make an effort to break in," he told josh. "i'm going up to the roof and see if i can send a signal for help to that zouave regiment we noticed camping by the roadside. here, take this, josh, and remember that you're defending women and children when you use it." "bully for you!" cried josh, as his hand closed upon the revolver which had been taken from the fraudulent oscar william tell. rod hurried away, and ran upon the woman of the house close by. she was looking greatly alarmed at the sudden coming of the enemy, but for all that rod believed she would prove true grit. "i want to get up on the roof if it's possible," was what he said to her; "there is a regiment of french troops camped not two miles away on the side of the hill, and if i could get in touch with them they'd come to our help. show me the way to the trapdoor, if there is one." she must have grasped his idea without trouble, for she immediately started up the stairs. the confusion outside was growing worse than ever, and served to spur the boy on to renewed exertions. the good woman of the house was soon pointing at the trap, and rod quickly had it open. as he clambered out on the roof he saw to his satisfaction that it was situated on the side away from the village street. in this fashion he believed he might be able to accomplish what he had determined to attempt, at least without being interrupted by any passing uhlan lancers. one look in the direction of the hillside gave him cause for further delight, since he found that he could easily see the camp of the tired zouaves, who had marched many miles since sun-up in hopes of participating in the day's battle, only to arrive when the action was all over. rod immediately began to wave his handkerchief wildly, though carrying out a certain program, and hoping to thus attract the attention of some sentry who may have been posted on that side of the camp. almost immediately he realized that this was just what had been accomplished, for he saw men running, and then a signal flag was waved in reply to his frantic appeals. "what do you want to communicate?" was what he made out to be fashioned through the regular wigwag work of the flag. "village at mercy of uhlans--come and help us at once!" that was the message which rod sent waving back. how glad he was at that minute he had picked up his knowledge of signal corps work, and could both send and receive so accurately. that the man in the zouave camp had grasped the meaning of his dispatch rod quickly understood, for almost immediately there was waved back an answer calculated to reassure him: "hold on! relief coming! o. k." all this of course took a little time in transmission. seconds had passed into minutes, and about the time he was through rod realized that things were getting pretty warm close by. in fact some of the raiders had discovered that the most pretentious house in the entire little village was barred against them. they had leaned from their saddles and pounded heavily on the door. when no one opened up they had given vent to their anger and even threatened to smash their way in, doubtless promising all sorts of terrible things for the inmates if forced to go to this trouble. still there had been no response. josh, who was in charge below, did not mean to risk the loss of the precious motorcycles, as well as take chances of being shot as a spy, just because those lordly uhlan cavalrymen demanded that he unbar the heavy door and let them enter. the threatening voices, accompanied by louder blows, continued to sound as rod hastened downstairs again. he realized that they must do everything possible to keep those rough raiders out until the french zouaves had a chance to arrive on the field. there were several old men among those who, in the first excitement, had sought refuge in the house that temporarily sheltered the young americans whom the simple french peasants and villagers considered real heroes. although far from sturdy in build, and with trembling, half-palsied hands, these old chaps had proceeded to arm themselves as best they could. one had found a big carving knife which he brandished as though it were a sword, and he a captain leading a charge; a second was swinging a cudgel, as though filled with a hope that it might yet be laid up against a german head; while the last of the trio had taken down a gun of the vintage of '71, which, together with its glistening sabre bayonet, had hung on the wall in memory of the good man of the house, who doubtless made the right kind of use of it in other days. altogether they presented quite a curious collection as they gathered there by the door, and waited to see if the enemy would carry out those loud threats to break in. rod was reminded of accounts he had read about the patchwork army gathered together by one falstaff in early english days, which consisted of the lame, the halt and the blind. all the same, those old fellows had the right sort of spirit, and acted as though quite willing to yield up their own lives in defense of the village. things were going from bad to worse outside. smoke could easily be detected now, as if to prove that those awful threats made by the uhlans were not idle ones; and that some cottage was already in flames. rod was almost counting the seconds. he found himself wondering whether the oncoming zouaves could possibly reach there before the door was broken from its hinges and the wolves without rush in to use their heavy sabres against the defenders. how long could they hold the aggressors in check? those weak old men would be swept aside as though they were pigmies; and what could he and his two chums do against half a dozen big cavalrymen, bent on pillage? the very first thing rod did do was to possess himself once more of that revolver. he believed he could make better and more judicious use of such a dangerous weapon than josh might--josh was so rash and headstrong, once he found himself up against a dangerous situation. the door, being very heavy, was resisting the attack of the soldiers successfully, though rod did not plume himself on this account. he feared there were many other ways by means of which the uhlans could accomplish their purpose and enter the house did they care to bother about looking. just then there arose a new cause for alarm. the good woman came crying from the other part of the building. rod heard what she said and was able to understand, although the other two were left in the dark. "what's happened next, rod?" demanded josh, with the air of a veteran; for josh often affected to liken himself to those old worthies who, when sorely beset, never asked about the number of their foes, but where they could be found, so that they might attack them hip and thigh. "she says they've set fire to the house, and that the whole rear of the same is already blazing fiercely," rod explained. hanky panky's face was a study. of course it was not really _fear_ that gripped him so fiercely; but nevertheless the boy had a peaked look about the eyes, and watched rod eagerly, as though hoping the other would eventually find some way of extricating them from this new predicament. "now here's a pretty kettle of fish," growled josh; "house afire, and we can't even rush out to throw water on the flames, just because there's a lot of cowardly skunks waiting to spit us like we were fowls. whee! what're we going to do about it, rod, tell me? i'll sally out and try to create a diversion, if you say the word." perhaps josh honestly meant it, but rod only laughed at him. "don't be silly, josh," was what the other said; "you'd have about as much chance against those half-dozen uhlans as a baby might. all we can do is to hold tight, and hope the zouaves will get along before it's too late. but if they do try to smash their way in we're going to fight; hear that?" "you just bet we are; every time," said josh, who had found a heavy poker and was swinging it around in a way that made poor hanky panky duck every time it barely missed his devoted head. he had hardly finished saying those few expressive words than there was an awful crash, and the front door, struck by some sort of battering ram, seemed to be partly knocked from its hinges. the uhlans were apparently determined to enter; and the more opposition they met the greater their desire seemed to become. chapter xviii. the coming of the zouaves. "why don't you give them a shot, rod?" hanky panky was heard calling just then, for apparently things had reached a crisis, and he expected seeing one of the raiders come pushing through the opening the next thing. rod was only holding back so as to keep his fire to the last extremity. the boy was pale, and his teeth were set, but there was a blaze in his eyes that boded no good for the first uhlan who ventured to try to enter. although the motorcycle boys in the start decided not to take sides if such a thing could be avoided, they had found it impossible to control their feelings in the matter. the cause of the allies seemed to be closer to american ideals than the militarist methods of the kaiser's men; and by degrees rod and his chums had come to sympathize with the french and belgians until finally ready to openly declare that they were for them heart and soul. rod hated the thought of shedding blood, even though his own life, as well as those of his chums, seemed in deadly danger. only as a very last resort was rod willing to use that weapon which had come into his possession so strangely; and in his mind he had already determined to only wound, if such a choice seemed possible. the uhlans without were exultant over the success they had already attained. to continue their work and presently smash the door completely in, they drew back the ladder which they were using as a battering ram. rod saw his chance to look out through the vent. what he saw was not of a reassuring nature. there were five stout men in the uniform of the reckless rough riders belonging to the german army; and they were swinging that heavy ladder in a way that showed what delight they experienced in just such work of destruction. rod did not class them as different from the soldiers of any army raiding through the enemy's country. in fact he was not bothering his head just then making comparisons, for he had enough to do in figuring how he might further delay the crisis so as to give the coming zouaves a little more time in which to arrive. "i guess it's got to be done!" the boy was muttering to himself as he peeped through that narrow slit of an opening and saw that the pack had about reached the end of their swing, so that the forward rush was about to begin. it was easy enough to pick out the man who seemed to be the head and brains of the bunch. he was of course in the van, and by his actions as well as by his loudly shouted exclamations exerted a most important influence on the others. in fact he served as the pilot of the little group; when he gave the word they surged forward with whoops, meaning this time to finish smashing that objectionable door. why the uhlans did not attempt to force an entrance through the rear of the house, which was absolutely undefended, rod never could tell. perhaps they were of the "one-idea" class of men, who, having made up their minds to do a thing in a certain way, could not deviate from the plan they had laid out. rod saw his chance to break up that next assault if only his aim were true. he thrust his weapon forward, finding plenty of room for his purpose. while he did not claim to be much of a shot with such a clumsy weapon as he now held, at the same time the boy knew considerable about firearms in general, and that counted for a whole lot. besides, the distance was ridiculously scant, and really rod would have been deeply mortified had he missed his aim under the circumstances. he meant to wound the leader by shooting him in the leg, and with that intention in view aimed low when pulling the trigger. the five uhlans had actually started on the run at the time, so that they might strike the tottering door a tremendous blow, and complete matters with one fell swoop, which would give them entrance to the house. josh, who was peeping over rod's shoulder, gave a howl of delight when through the little puff of smoke that followed the feeble crack of the revolver he saw the big leader suddenly crumple up, and, falling in a heap, bring every one of his companions down in a struggling mass. "a great shot, rod, a magnificent hit!" was the burden of his shout; "pinked the whole five at a clip! splendid work, let me tell you, rod! however did you manage to do it?" apparently, josh had allowed his enthusiasm to run away with his better judgment, for he imagined that in some mysterious manner the missile from rod's weapon had split in sections, and scattered like a load of bird shot, bringing down victims by the wholesale. however that might be, josh speedily realized his error, for a number of the soldiers were already struggling to their feet. only one remained on the ground, and he was hugging his left leg as though in sudden anguish, a fact that sent a qualm of regret through rod's heart. he hoped they would draw off now, and give up the attempt for a little time at least. true, there were five more charges in his gun, and only four of the uhlans, so that it seemed as though he might be equal to the task of holding them in check, but one victim was enough to satisfy him. "they're going to try it again, rod!" cried josh, shrilly. he was trembling violently with the excitement, and his face had taken on the look of one wrought up to the fighting pitch. to tell the truth, josh had but a single regret just then, which was that he did not possess the mate of the weapon his chum gripped in his hand. "and i'd never have bothered just peppering 'em in their legs, either," he afterwards affirmed, when talking matters over with hanky panky; "they were meaning to get us, and if the shoe happened to be on the other foot who would be to blame?" when rod saw that the four men once more picked up the heavy ladder and started to swing it forward he realized that it was up to him to try again. by gradually reducing the number of their foes he must in the end check their drive. so he coolly picked out the next victim. as before, it had to be one of those in front, so as to bring confusion to the charge, as the rest were bound to trip over him should he fall. all this while there arose from different quarters loud outcries and shouts of laughter from the spoilers, filled with the mad desire to inflict a reign of terror and frightfulness upon the natives. shots were also heard at intervals, women screamed, children shrieked, dogs barked, and taken in all it was a combination of sounds never to be forgotten by those who happened to be in the little french village. well, rod was just as successful with that second shot of his as he had been on the former occasion. with the report of his weapon he could see the man start, and give every evidence of being hard hit. he managed to keep from falling, however, being sustained by his grip on the ladder, as well as the impetus of his companions' advance. it might have altered things somewhat had rod been given an opportunity to discharge a third shot, this time selecting the other fellow in the van; but before he could really grasp the immensity of this idea it was too late. the heavy ladder struck the already weakened door, and such was the force with which it was hurled forward that it tore the latter from its hinges and sent it to the floor, the end of the ladder projecting several feet into the room. rod, seeing what was about to happen, had swept his two comrades back so that none of them chanced to be struck by the falling door. there was now a wide gap, and the three uninjured uhlans might easily rush through this. they would find, however, that the resistance of the inmates did not end with the breaking in of the door; for there was rod holding himself in readiness to shoot again, josh with his upraised poker, hanky panky also in line with a club, and the old man who had secured the revered gun that had hung on the wall since '71, waiting for this day, had its sword bayonet adjusted so as to pin the first german who dared venture across that threshold. fortunately there was no necessity for further action on the part of the valiant defenders of the village home, for just at that moment there arose a series of the wildest shouts rod had ever heard. they were shouting in unison, those zouaves, as they spread through the village looking for uhlans to spit upon their hungry bayonets. hanky panky in times past had more than once ventured to make fun of certain phrases which he had heard spoken in french; but he was now ready to confess that there was no language on the face of the earth to be compared with the french as falling from the bearded lips of men who wore those baggy red trousers of the famous zouaves. "they've come, rod, they've really got here!" he cried, in a paroxysm of delight. josh too was equally satisfied, though he should always deeply regret that it had not fallen to his lot to strike _one_ blow for the cause, and that all the honors had gone to rod. rod, seeing that none of the uhlans seemed disposed to renew the attack, managed to look out; and the others were speedily at his side. the danger, in so far as it related to the inmates of the village houses, was past; but evidently it had only begun for the uhlans. they had mounted their already tired horses in hot haste, that is, all those capable of doing so, and were trying to get out of the village, turning and firing back at the french with reckless abandon as they went galloping away. rod saw one man trying to help another mount a prancing horse. he had his arm about the wounded man and seemed to ignore his own danger in the desire to fetch his comrade safely away. "that's the fellow you pinked the first time!" cried josh, understandingly. rod had already guessed as much. he hoped deep down in his heart that the uhlan would manage to regain his saddle and ride to safety, for the boy did not want to feel that through any act of his the raider might be finally brought down. half a minute later and the two were galloping off. once the injured man sat in his saddle he seemed capable of taking care of himself, though unless his wound were attended to shortly he must become too weak from loss of blood to continue on his way, and would find it necessary to allow himself to be taken prisoner by the french in order to save his life. all around the active zouaves were running madly, and shouting in their wild excitement. the uhlans had not attempted to make any sort of a stand, for they realized they were vastly outnumbered, and that it was "safety first" with them. from the crackling of guns that continued for some time rod felt assured that all of the raiders who had so boldly entered the french village could not have gone out of it again. some there must be caught in a trap, for it seemed that the first of the zouaves arriving had started to encircle the place, with the idea of cutting off the retreat of the pillagers when they took the alarm. josh first of all insisted in shaking hands with each of his chums, and then with the three valiant old men who had shown such grit. rod, more practical, knew that there was other work to be done. "here, we must find buckets, and put out that fire before it gets too big a headway!" he told both of his companions, upon which they bestirred themselves; and some of the zouaves coming to their assistance, they presently had the flames completely smothered. things began to assume a settled appearance in the village as the sun sank low in the west, seen through the breaks in the clouds. there was wailing in a few of the houses over the destruction that had been wrought during the temporary occupation of the place by the enemy. luckily, however, no one of the inhabitants had been killed, or even seriously injured. two buildings were burned, several dogs shot because they had dared bark at the invaders, a few slight wounds received; but on the whole every one felt that they had good reason for congratulating themselves on the fact that things were no worse. other french villages did not fare so well when overrun by the invaders. chapter xix. the road of von kluck's retreat. after all the boys were not sorry for the experience. they had witnessed some sights that they would never forget. rod too could plume himself on having done the right thing when he used his weapon twice with telling effect. after the fire in the rear of the house had been effectually extinguished the good woman appeared before them to announce that supper was served; and she added her apologies because they might find some of the dishes not quite so warm as they liked, "for," as she naã¯vely put it, "we had too much heat in another quarter; and one never knows just how to manage when those terrible uhlans are around." certainly none of the three boys found anything to complain of. they never remembered sitting down to a finer meal, when their appetites were on edge, as just then happened to be the case. hanky panky ate until josh solemnly warned him that he would surely founder unless he curbed that awful appetite of his. it might have been noticed, however, that josh was sitting there for some little time after his comrades had left the table, and still "sampling" the good things that tempted him. it was settled that since the three motorcycles were already in the house they might as well remain there. rod managed to fix the smashed door so that it would close again, though a carpenter's skill would be required to place it in its former excellent condition. when they got through eating it was beginning to grow dusk. josh remarked that he guessed he would saunter out to stretch his legs, and at the same time see the extent of damage inflicted by the brief occupation of the village by the raiders. "they say those uhlans can make a howling wilderness of a paradise quicker than any men on the face of the earth, once they set out to do things," josh explained as he picked up his hat, "and i'd like to find out if there's any truth in the yarn." rod told him to "mind his eye," and not wander away, since with the night coming on there could be no telling what danger might not hover over his head. "for all we know some of those germans may still be hanging about," added hanky panky, "and i'd really feel better if rod loaned you his gun." "oh, come! there's no necessity of josh going out at all if he has to load himself down with deadly weapons like that," laughed rod. josh had his little outing, and returned in good time. he acted as though he did not regret his determination, and hanky panky, knowing from the signs that the other must have seen something worth while, immediately set to work "pumping" him, being filled with curiosity. "you ran across something while you were out, josh, and i'd thank you to open up and tell us about it," he went on to say. "did the french chaps with the baggy red trousers and the big yell manage to bring down any of the german raiders when they used up so much powder and ball?" "i believe they did, for one woman who could talk some english managed to tell me the zouaves took three prisoners back with them, and in addition one fellow who would have to be buried, she said, because he was dead." hanky panky would have shivered at one time on hearing such gruesome news, but after witnessing the terrible sights accompanying the battle along the bank of the marne he somehow seemed to think little of it. "was that _all_ you saw or heard, josh?" he continued, bent on making the other confess to the limit. josh grinned, showing that he had purposely acted so as to excite the suspicion of this curious comrade. having attained his end, he consented to explain further. "well, no, not quite all, hanky," he remarked calmly; "i'm most sure i saw a man skulking around who showed a whole lot of concern when i approached, and even hurried away. he wasn't an old man either, and let me tell you, rod, he hid his face from me in the bargain. now, what do you think of that?" "was it jules, do you reckon?" asked hanky panky, as quick as a flash; for somehow he could not imagine any other person wishing to avoid meeting one of them. "i got the notion in my head," admitted josh, "that it must be either him or else some party hitched up with jules. he acted in a way that made me sure of that." "huh!" hanky panky went on to say, with one of his odd chuckles, "i'm only surprised, josh, you didn't step right up to the fellow and ask him if he answered to the name of jules baggott; also if he happened to know a woman called jeanne d'aubrey. that'd be just like your way, josh." the other grinned affably as though he considered this one of the highest compliments his chum could pay him. "oh, well, to tell you the truth, though i'm almost ashamed to admit it," he remarked, "i did want to chase after him and say that very same thing; but, hang the luck, he was too slippery for me. besides, you see, it was getting dark; anyhow he managed to leave me in the lurch. but it was one of that bunch, believe me." "still after that paper, it seems, rod," said hanky panky with a frown; "mebbe we'll have a visitor again to-night, just like happened in that inn over at calais." "if we do you can make up your mind he'll have all his trouble for his pains," the other told him; "besides, we'll take precautions this time, and no sneak-thief can get into the room when i'm on my guard without our knowing it." the boys sat around for some little time afterwards. rod entered into a conversation with the woman of the house, for while he could tell her many things concerning the state of affairs at the front, at the same time there was always a possibility of his picking up a little information that might come in handy later on. in good time they were shown to a room, where they proceeded to make themselves comfortable. rod, with some cord which he produced, set a clever little trap. by this simple method of protection he fixed matters so that should any one try to enter by way of the open windows they would arouse the sleepers by pulling down three chairs which had been piled up, and made fast to the cord. whatever the plan of the plotter may have been, evidently entering the room of the three american boys did not form a part of it, because the night passed without any further alarm. "guess he knew we had that gun we took from his man who played the part of oscar william tell," observed hanky panky in the morning, when awakened by the rising sun they lay there and talked matters over. "well," remarked josh with a yawn, "by this time jules is beginning to understand that we don't mean to handle him with gloves if he runs afoul of us. while he may keep on trying as hard as ever to get that paper in his hands, it'll be through some sneaky way, and not in a stand-up fight. schemers like him seldom do feel like facing the men they aim to beat. i'm keeping an eye out for jules; and say, if ever i do get a chance to give him my compliments you listen to what he says about it; that's all." the morning opened peacefully, though in the distance they could already begin to hear the guns take up the same steady rhythm that would grow louder and more insistent as the day grew older, until the fierce rush of battle again held sway, and a million of frenchmen hurled themselves against an equal number of germans in the endeavor to push them back still further in their retreat from before paris. the boys started out soon afterwards. rod believed he knew about where the regiment could be found to which jeanne's husband, andre, belonged. if fortune favored them, and they discovered the french reservist still in the land of the living, doubtless it could soon be arranged as they planned. as on the previous afternoon, they soon found themselves on the road along which the retreating german army had passed. everywhere they could see marks of this flight, for such it really was, despite the order with which the retrograde movement had been conducted. in places the roadside was glutted with cast-off articles, such as had better be disposed of if haste and mobility were to be considered. as a rule these had been rendered useless before being abandoned, in order to prevent them from becoming valuable to the enemy. it was a sight worth seeing; and no wonder such of the country people whom the boys came upon, examining this "made in germany" material, had broad smiles on their faces, since it spoke eloquently of the near panic that must have existed in the army of von kluck, before they would thus abandon so much of their resources. a score of interesting things engaged their attention as they slowly made their way along. obstacles were frequently met with, but cleverly avoided by these expert riders. many times rod called a temporary halt in order to speak with some peasant who chanced to look more than ordinarily intelligent, and, he imagined, able to give him information. they also came upon various detachments of the french army. some were engaged in caring for wounded comrades who could not be taken to the rear as yet on account of the glut of injured and the lack of vehicles of transportation; though many such were to be seen on their way to paris with loads of groaning humanity. then fresh artillery was to be found going to the front, the horses snorting as though they already scented the battle smoke, the men sitting there on gun carriage and caisson, grim and eager, though none could say if he might be so fortunate as to see the sun set when that dreadful day reached its close. other big vans there were carrying fresh ammunition to the guns that were so noisily punctuating the morning atmosphere with their clamor. french powder and shot had never been sent forth on a mission more in keeping with the hearts of the people. a million hands would willingly toil day by day making fresh supplies, if only it could win for them another such fight as this glorious victory over the german invaders on the banks of the marne. there came a time, however, when rod was brought to a sudden stop through other means than his own will. from either side of the road arose men wearing the french uniform. guns were brought to bear upon the three riders, and a gruff voice ordered them to come to a halt and surrender. laughing at what they deemed something akin to a joke, they hastened to comply. "we might as well go to their headquarters, as they are ordering us to," suggested rod pleasantly; "it will serve to break the monotony of our ride, and who knows what information we may be able to pick up there." he touched his breast pocket as he said this, and the other boys knew that rod did not in the least doubt the ability of those papers to carry them through any little difficulty that might arise. accordingly he turned to the grizzled french sergeant who seemed to be in charge of the detail by which they had been taken prisoners, and told him to lead the way to his commanding officer. passing up the road they turned into what seemed to be a little-used path. each of the boys trundled his machine along, preferring to do this rather than risk handing them over to the soldiers. even hanky panky exhibited no sign of alarm. if in the beginning he felt any such weakness it had been immediately set at rest by those cheery words which rod spoke. of course they could quickly satisfy the french commander of their standing; those magical documents would do the trick and gain them new friends as well. shortly afterwards they found themselves in what seemed to be a temporary camp. a regiment of troops had been stationed here for some strategical purpose, which was never explained to the boys. under a shelter tent several officers were conferring while they sipped their coffee. the older man with the white imperial rod knew to be a colonel from his uniform. all of them eyed the trio with frowns, and somehow hanky panky began to feel a little chill. rod immediately courteously saluted the colonel and started to speak. "pardon me, colonel, but may i ask why we have been waylaid and taken in charge?" "it is very simple," came the astounding answer in plain english; "in times like this spies may be arrested, tried, and executed all inside of an hour. and you three boys are accused of having been known to send information to the enemy!" chapter xx. the accusation. that startling accusation sobered even josh, for the smile faded from his face as he turned an anxious look upon rod. to be taken for a spy was a serious thing in these war times, when a short shrift often followed such a charge. rod did not lose his self-possession. at the same time a little frown appeared on his usually placid face. "that is a serious thing you charge us with, my colonel," he remarked. "we are three american boys who were caught in the whirl of war. we finally found our way out of belgium with much difficulty. two of our number started back home, having been recalled by a message of importance." "but belgium is far away from paris, and the banks of the marne, young m'sieu!" said the officer, with a touch of satire in his cold voice, and a look toward a man dressed as a civilian, who, rod noticed, was intently watching them. "that is true, monsieur le colonel," immediately replied the boy, "and we can explain that easily. we met with a poor french woman in antwerp whose story enlisted our sympathies. she had just come by a paper from a lawyer in paris whereby her husband would inherit quite a snug little fortune if he signed the same document within a stated time. but as he had hastened to join his regiment when war was declared she feared the opportunity would be forever lost. and, my colonel, we three boys, hoping also to see something of what was going on along the french front, gave jeanne d'aubrey our promise that we would try to find her andre, so that the paper might be signed." the colonel appeared to be interested, also the other officers, for they were all french, and as such could appreciate anything bordering on chivalry. nevertheless the commander shook his head a little sadly. "that sounds very fine, young m'sieu," he went on to say, "but, alas! what are we to believe when this gentleman, who is a fully accredited member of the french secret service, informs us that he certainly saw you communicating with the enemy only last night, and that there can be no doubt of your guilt?" at hearing this hanky panky uttered a low cry of alarm, while josh glared defiantly at the man in question, who was nodding his head as if confirming all the colonel said. "aha! i smell a rat," josh muttered, "and its name is jules, too! i can see his fine hand back of all this raw deal." rod had to think fast. he, too, believed that the secret agent must be in the employ of the schemer; but it might not be advisable to say so as bluntly as josh seemed capable of doing. "keep still, josh," he said aside, "and let me do all the talking necessary." and then, addressing the commandant again, he continued: "there surely must be some mistake about this, monsieur le colonel. we spent the whole of last night sleeping in a house in a small village where a regiment of brave zouaves routed a force of uhlans who had taken possession. the building in which we found shelter was attacked, and we had the honor of assisting in its defense. i myself shot two uhlans in the leg with this same weapon, as they were smashing in the front door, after firing the back of the building. but the zouaves came up just in time, and cleared the field of the enemy." the colonel listened and looked hard at rod. evidently he had been already favorably impressed with the frank face of the lad, and was puzzled to know what to believe. he turned to the secret service agent and exchanged several low sentences with him. the man seemed positive, and apparently did his best to convince the officer that at least the boys should be held, pending an examination. once more rod faced the colonel. he meant to play his trump cards now, and convince the other that the charge made against them was ridiculous, to say the least. rapidly he started to recount some of the strange happenings that had been their portion since crossing from german territory to that of belgium and taking up the race to reach antwerp by dodging the invading armies. the officers listened, and apparently all of them could understand english, for they showed the greatest interest. now and then two might be seen exchanging meaning looks, as though coming to a mutual understanding to the effect that this boy must be a modern baron munchausen, judging from the remarkable stories he had at the tip of his tongue. this was especially the case when rod mentioned that they had actually been invited into the presence of king albert, who had thanked them personally. "it is all very interesting, young m'sieu," said the commandant, when rod paused for breath; "but naturally we would be better pleased if you could show us some proof that these wonderful things have come your way. so grave an accusation may not be brushed aside, you understand, with a wave of the hand. and i am sure you will only too gladly oblige us in this case." he smiled when saying this; so too did the younger officers, for they could not believe that the boy was carrying anything with him calculated to substantiate his remarkable story. judge then of their amazement when rod coolly produced certain documents which he kept wrapped in oilskin, located in a deep pocket of his coat. "be kind enough, my colonel," rod said composedly, "to observe that not only is this paper signed by the gallant king of the belgians, but that indeed he himself wrote every word it contains. and i have still other proofs to show you in turn, if you would still be convinced that our story is every word of it true." there was a tense silence; several pairs of eyes were glued on that document which rod meant to have framed if ever he were lucky enough to get it safely home with him. it would be a badge of honor to which he and his chums might proudly point when speaking of their remarkable adventures in the land of the great war. the manner of the colonel had changed when finally he looked up. admiration spoke in the glance of his sparkling eyes. here, then, were brave american boys who had indeed done something worthy of commendation by one whose name was already on the lips of every loyal frenchman; because the stubborn defense of his native soil by king albert and his little army had caused the delay in the plans of the german host that really saved paris from capture. "it is only right that i should beg your pardon, young m'sieu," he hastened to say, with deep feeling his voice; "there is no mistaking the meaning of this recommendation, which rings true. you are the friends of belgium, and also of france. there is little that you could ask within my power to grant that i would refuse you. and if you will do me the honor to shake hands with me i shall be proud to press the palm that king albert has held." well, the thing had not been so hard to accomplish after all. still rod realized that the secret agent of the french government must have sold himself to jules for a price, knowing at the time he was going to put the lives of innocent boys in peril; and rod did not feel positively safe yet. the man, however, saw that, so far as he was concerned, he had put his foot in a hole and had better beat a hasty retreat while there was yet time. undoubtedly he himself had been impressed by the display of a document of such great value, and realized that those who had the sincere friendship of the ruler of the belgians were not to be treated harshly with impunity. as josh afterwards remarked, the man immediately commenced to "hedge"; that is, he hastened to "square himself" with the french colonel, who was now glancing curiously, perhaps a bit suspiciously, toward him. "apparently i have been mistaken in supposing that it was these brave young messieurs who were sending secret messages to the enemy," he went on to say glibly, "and i hasten to offer them my most sincere apologies and regrets that through me they have been put to such needless trouble. i hereby withdraw my charge and trust that you will forget it has ever been made, monsieur le colonel." this was said in french, which rod alone of the three boys could fully understand, but josh guessed the tenor of the remarks from the shrugs accompanying them. "he's eating his words, hanky, don't you see?" he observed behind his hand to his other chum. "some people know enough to get in out of the rain when the deluge comes. jules has wasted some more hard cash, seems like." now rod understood that he could make it pretty hard for the secret service man of the french government if he chose to tell what he knew about jules, and the profit that would accrue to the schemer could he prevent andre from signing that paper on time. he did not think it good policy, however, to mention the matter. it would only serve to anger the man, and could not bring them any particular benefit. accordingly rod only shot him a suggestive look that doubtless the other could easily analyze. it meant that the boys were not disposed to be vindictive--that in fact they were ready to take it for granted he did not know the true condition of affairs when he entered into his agreement with the crafty jules; and hence they were going to let the matter drop. perhaps the man might feel a spark of gratitude and appreciation for this kindly and generous spirit; the future would show that, rod thought. as the colonel had been so much interested in their story, rod considered it only fair that he relate a few more circumstances connected with their past. he also gladly showed him the paper given him by the surgeon at the field hospital, telling how the american boys had worked like beavers in assisting him take care of the numerous cases he had been compelled to handle with such inadequate facilities at his command. yes, there were still other documents which rod allowed them to glance over, after which he smilingly remarked: "i suppose now, m. le colonel, there will be no necessity for taking us out before a file of your soldiers and blindfolding our eyes while they perform their melancholy duty?" the officer for answer threw his arms around rod and gave him a demonstration of excitable french admiration by kissing him on both cheeks. "if i had a son," he said fervently, "which, alas! heaven has not allowed me to retain in this world, i should be proud indeed were he built in your image, my brave young american. and when you go back to your splendid country tell them, will you not, wherever you go, that france sees her duty by the world, and will not flinch, no matter what the cost. when this war is over there will never be a despotic military power again. the victory on the marne has settled all that, though it may take years for germany to recognize the fiat." the three boys parted from the worthy colonel with mutual expressions of esteem. they would often recall his fine martial appearance, with his strong face and its white imperial, trimmed after the style of the later napoleon. even hanky panky could laugh now, once they were on the road again. "that agent of the government saw he had put his foot in it, after you flashed the king albert message before them," he remarked as they rode slowly along as near to forming a bunch as was safe for motorcyclists. "yes, and i reckon he felt pretty cheap when he had to own up about making a mistake," added josh. "you don't believe for a single minute, do you, rod, that he really saw anybody trying to send signals to the enemy? it was all a set-up game, wasn't it?" "no question about it," he was told by the other, rod being in the van, as usual, "but it was another experience for us, you know. and besides, i managed to pick up a little information that helps out." "do you mean with regard to the regiment we're on the track of?" questioned hanky panky eagerly, for to tell the honest truth he was hoping that the end of the trail was near at hand, when they could follow their other chums across the sea to their far-distant homes. "yes," said rod over his shoulder, "it's ahead of us, and we ought to reach it some time to-day; but the chances are we'll find it neck deep in action, because it forms a part of that army thrown forward to do the worrying of the german rearguard to-day. let us hope if one man in that regiment survives the battle it may be andre." chapter xxi. the haunted well. the boys did not attempt to do much of this sort of talking as they moved along the road. many reasons united to make conversation a weariness to the flesh when carried on under the prevailing conditions. in the first place they had to keep a certain distance apart, which would in itself necessitate shouting. then the rumble of cannon was growing steadily heavier the further they advanced, deadening most other sounds pretty much all the time. last of all there were those gaps in the road, springing up most unexpectedly, where enemy shells had struck in the endeavor to destroy as many of the pursuing french troops as possible. both armies had traversed the region through which rod and his friends were making their tedious way. it can well be understood that the marks of their late progress abounded on all sides. even where no particular action had occurred a thousand reminders of the human flood of men that had so lately passed through were to be discovered on every side. often hanky panky's heart seemed to feel a chill hand rest upon it as he marked the inevitable evidences of "man's inhumanity to man." cottages were burned or ruined in some way or other; once beautiful gardens trampled out of all recognition; outbuildings torn down to make campfires for the marching hosts--in fact the land looked as though a hurricane might have recently swept across it, leaving scars that it would take a long time indeed to heal. here, there, and everywhere they could see groups of the forlorn inhabitants wandering about. some stood and stared at the ruins of their recent homes; others guarded the little they had saved; while still more were on the roadside looking toward the region of the north, from whence came all those portentous rumblings and angry roarings. hanky panky, however, was astonished to discover very few solemn faces among the peasants of the marne country. at first this amazed him, but presently he figured out what it meant. they had in many cases lost the accumulated savings of years, even their humble homes; but in spite of this they could take off their caps and shout in almost savage glee as the three motorcycle boys rode past. why, to be sure, the great day had come, of which they had some of them dreamed full forty years and more; when the german legions, like a plague of locusts, had once more descended upon devoted paris, only to be brought to a standstill by the glorious army of the republic. and even now those furious guns told how von kluck, who had made such wonderful boasts of what he meant to do, was in full retreat bordering on a panic. that was why temporary sufferings were all forgotten. for france these honest sons and daughters would make much greater sacrifices, and think little of it. so hanky panky felt ready to take off his hat to every one of them who gave the three riders a cheer or a salute in passing by. few animals save dogs and cats could be seen. evidently the germans had tried to make a clean sweep of the forty miles and more they covered like a vast fan, in falling back to the prepared positions along the aisne. those horses or cows that had been saved from the general slaughter or seizure must have been artfully secreted somewhere, so that they escaped the keen search. as for chickens, not a solitary rooster's crow had the boys heard since early dawn; for fowls of every description are first looked after by the soldier marching through a hostile country. long caravans of supplies were crawling over other roads, all heading for the front and coming from the direction of paris. no wonder that every thoroughfare must be crowded with vehicles of transportation, when a million frenchmen in arms had to be fed daily, not to mention the enormous quantities of ammunition that must be expended between the rising and the setting of every sun. the more rod saw of this the greater grew his admiration for the genius of the men whose brains had to command all these thousands of details looking to the provisioning of such a vast host. it was an experience the educational value of which could never be fully estimated; and often would the boy ponder over the problems that must have confronted those who were responsible for the solution of them. they had numerous little adventures by the way, though as a rule these were in the line of narrow escapes from nasty spills, on account of ruts in the road. rod frequently gave warning when he reached an especially bad stretch of ground, for he was well aware of the failings of his two chums--josh with his impetuous ways, and hanky panky rather apt to be careless as well as clumsy. one thing in particular rod noticed, and this was that as they proceeded the sounds ahead of them kept on growing louder. evidently then they were coming up on that part of the marne country where the last rearguard action was being fiercely contested. von kluck and his proud army must be continually finding themselves pushed further and further away from the beautiful city in which they had fully expected to be encamped ere this; though they grimly contested every mile they gave up, bound to sacrifice as few of their heavy guns as possible. another thing staggered the boys when they came to think of it. during the civil war in their own country some of the greatest battles then known to history were fought, and the numbers on both sides did not really amount to more than two hundred thousand men. here there were more than as many million grappling in deadly earnest, supplied with the most wonderful of modern death-dealing weapons, with engineers highly educated along the lines of utilizing these engines of wholesale destruction. no wonder then the dead and wounded were as the leaves of the forest when the wind of late october tears them from their hold upon the branches and scatters them in windrows behind the logs and stumps and in fence corners. rod had some reason to believe that if they were allowed to proceed forward on this particular day they would presently reach the regiment in which andre, sought so earnestly in the interest of his family, had an humble part. he was determined that should fortune favor them and the object of their search be accomplished he would listen no longer to the pleadings of josh, but strike for paris, so as to get away from this war-blasted country as quickly as possible. it was beginning to pall upon rod. after all he was only a boy, and had never been accustomed to such terrible sights as of late were being continually thrust before him. nature has its limits, and rod believed he was now very close to the end of his endurance. "as it is, what we've run across will haunt us the rest of our lives," he was telling himself as he led the way along the difficult road; "and for one i'm longing to wake up again, and find myself wandering by the peaceful waters of the river bordering garland in the far-distant states. and here's hoping that this may turn out to be our very last day in the track of the battling armies." the dust was thick in places, partly on account of the season of the year, and then again because of the unwonted use to which that particular thoroughfare had been put of late. when several hundred thousand feet have tramped along in almost endless procession, and then innumerable vehicles of every known description, not to mention heavy artillery, some of it drawn by traction engines, some by horses, passing back and forth, it can easily be understood that the best of roads must be well nigh wrecked. hanky panky had coughed a number of times, as though his throat was beginning to clog up with all this dust, and he found himself in danger of choking. when no attention was paid at first to these plain symptoms he coughed louder than ever, and with such evident distress that rod guessed what he wanted. "all right, hanky," he shouted back, "wait till we come to a well, or a spring of some sort, and we'll drop off to wash it down." after that hanky panky quieted considerably, his main object having been accomplished. as he rode along the boy kept watching ahead, hoping that it would not be long before they sighted some oasis in the desert where a sparkling rill ran, or the thrice welcome sweep of an old-fashioned well told of water to be had for the trouble of raising the same. "i see one, rod!" he presently called at the top of his voice, which was quite husky from the accumulation of dust; "there's a well in that place we're coming to, and i hope you keep your word, because i'm nearly perishing for a drink." "same here," said josh, thinking to relieve the other's mind, because that would make two in favor of a stop, and majority always ruled with the motorcycle boys. it happened just then that the road was next to deserted, though again just the reverse might be the case. the well sweep could no longer be seen, but hanky panky had marked the spot in his mind, and was not to be cheated because a knoll hid the well from the road, so it was only visible in that one quarter. rod drew up. a gate stood before him that was now in ruins, showing that the invaders had been there. they pushed their heavy machines past, and followed the lane leading over the knoll, to find a cottage in ruins, having been burned to the very ground. it was a sad sight, and filled the boys with distress; but by this time they were naturally becoming a little hardened to such spectacles of warfare, and could view them without the same sensation of anger and disgust toward the aggressors that had filled their hearts at an earlier date. for some reason or other the germans had chosen to apply the torch to this isolated cottage. perhaps some party had been keenly disappointed at finding it totally deserted, with not even a stray chicken left to satisfy their longing for a supper. rod gave one hasty glance around. then he heaved a satisfied sigh, for he had been a little afraid lest he discover some evidence of foul work there. such did not happen to be the case; the owner of the cottage instead of staying and arousing the passions of the invaders by firing at them in secret, had wisely departed to unknown regions before their coming, taking warning in time. so the trio of boys hastened to the well as soon as they could dispose of their wheels. it would do them no harm to idle away ten minutes here, and drink their fill of the sparkling liquid which doubtless lay in those shadowy depths. hanky panky reached it first of all, josh not appearing to be in a humor to force himself to the van. in fact josh seemed to be amused at something, for he had one of those smirks on his face which marked it whenever he watched hanky panky's evidence of greed. "i don't seem to be able to quite see down _all_ the way, rod," the other was saying when his comrades joined him; "but i dropped a pebble in, and could plainly hear a good splash; so there's plenty of the stuff down there." "i only hope it's all right," remarked josh, shortly afterwards, when they had managed to draw up a dripping bucket of cold water. that caused hanky panky to hesitate, for he had a gourd in his hand, and was about to dip in. "now what in the wide world do you mean by saying that, i'd like to know, josh; you're always trying to drop a fly in the ointment, seems to me. what could there be wrong with this water?" he demanded, filling the gourd as he spoke. "oh! i don't know," drawled the other, wickedly, "but if it happened that some of those ugly-tempered germans chose to drop a little poison in the well it'd be a tough thing for the french who drank later, and mebbe make 'em sick in the bargain." hanky panky turned pale, and allowed the gourd to spill; whereupon josh coolly took it out of his hand, dipped into the bucket, and commenced drinking. "if it doesn't kill _me_, why then it's safe, you see. i'm always willing to be the tester for the crowd, you know. tastes all right, though, and as cold as anything. whew! rod, you have a dip, since hanky feels nervous about it, won't you?" rod thereupon laughed, accepted the rude drinking cup from the joker, filled it from the dripping bucket, and offered it to the third member of the group. "don't mind what he says, hanky; you know josh loves to have his little joke; and i believe he still feels that he owes you one on account of the trick you played on him this morning." "then you really don't believe they did poison it, rod?" asked the other. "that isn't the german way of doing things, as far as i know," rod told him; at which assurance hanky panky swallowed his fears, and drained the gourd. "might as well be hung for a whole sheep as a lamb!" he declared, once more dipping into the bucket; "but no matter if it's my last drink or not, i'm going to say this is as fine water as any i ever drank over in our own dear country. so here goes." rod in turn took a drink, and was ready to pronounce it excellent. indeed, after their dusty ride of the morning nothing could have been one-half so refreshing as that draught of ice-cold water from the well with the old-fashioned sweep. "if we're meaning to rest up a little bit," remarked hanky panky, shrewdly, "we might as well stay right here. then just before we start off again it'll be another swig all around. i'd like to carry a canteen of that same water along with me, so i could wet my whistle as i rode." "that would be your undoing, i'm afraid," laughed rod, picturing the other uptilting the said canteen every few minutes, in spite of the wretched condition of the road and the necessity for cautious riding. "i wonder whatever became of the people who lived here?" remarked josh, presently, as he shifted his position for some reason or other, and sat with his face close to the curb of the well. "oh! they must have lit out long before the germans arrived," hanky said, confidently; "i hope now you don't believe they were actually killed, and buried somewhere around here, do you, josh? you are the worst hand to imagine terrible things i ever knew." "i didn't say anything like that, did i?" demanded josh; "but it must have been on your mind. listen! what was that?" "i didn't hear anything," said hanky panky, looking worried all the same; "what did it sound like, josh?" instead of answering, josh held his hand up to indicate that if the other stopped talking he too might catch the sound. and as they listened what seemed to be a long-drawn groan came up from the depths of the well from which they had just been drinking! chapter xxii. at the ford of the river marne. "oh! did you hear that?" exclaimed hanky panky, all excitement; "it was a sure-enough moan. rod, josh, there's been some poor fellow down there all this while; and we never dreamed of it when we pulled that bucket of water up!" saying this hanky panky leaned far over the edge of the well curb, and attempted to see into the murky depths. rod cast a quick look in the direction of josh, who gave him a sly wink, but kept a straight face. "i can't see anything, for a fact," complained hanky panky in great distress; "but it was a groan, i'm sure--there it goes again, and worse than before. oh! rod, do you believe some poor chap tried to hide in the well when he saw all those awful germans coming, and hasn't been strong enough to climb up again since?" "why, that might be possible, of course," replied rod, "though just how he could stay down there this long is more than i can understand." "what do you say, josh?" demanded the sympathetic one. "oh! me?" remarked josh, with a shrug of his shoulders, and not even offering to change his position; "if you asked me straight off the handle now i'd say that it might be only the wind sighing through the trees, or something like that. don't stand to reason that anybody could be down there in that well." when hanky panky met with opposition he always became more positive; possibly the sly josh knew this full well, and allowed the fact to govern his actions. "but we all heard the groans, didn't we?" demanded hanky panky; "and i guess i know one when it hits my ears. there certainly is some one down there. listen to that, will you; isn't it just fierce the way he keeps going on, though?" indeed, the sounds had once more commenced to well up from the dark depths, and in a most agonizing fashion too. even rod felt a thrill, although he could give a pretty good guess concerning the nature of the poor unfortunate who was the contributing cause for those dismal groans. "no use talking, fellows!" declared hanky panky presently, after they had listened again to the suggestive sounds that seemed to spell human misery; "i just can't stand this any longer. something's got to be done, that's what. i've a good notion to slip down the rope myself, and find out what it means." "but that'd be going a whole lot, just to satisfy your curiosity, wouldn't it?" asked josh, cunningly, for he knew that he was taking just the course to further aggravate the other's intention to act. "well, you don't seem to care much what happens to a poor chap who's made a fool of himself, and got caught down in a well; but i do," asserted hanky panky, proudly. "i don't think i could ever sleep decent again if i had the nerve to ride away from here, and never even try to get him out." he deliberately started to remove his coat, showing that his mind was made up. rod looked at josh, but received in turn a pleading glance, as though the other begged to be let alone, and turn his trick. the chance to "get one" on hanky panky was too good to be lost, josh evidently believed. so those amazing groans continued to well up out of the depths, increasing in pathos if anything as they proceeded. "take care not to slip, hanky," advised rod, "or we'll have the job of drying a chum out before we can go on our way." "and say, that well water's awful cold in the bargain," remarked josh, carelessly; "keep a tight hold on the rope. we'll look after this end, and when you say the word pull you out." accordingly the determined one started to lower himself into the haunted well, showing a most commendable spirit, rod thought. it was really too bad to allow the joking josh to play this trick on so gallant a fellow; but possibly there would be no harm done in the end, and at least it served to break the terrible monotony of seeing sad sights on the road through the devastated country. presently the shaking of the rope ceased, and the voice of the explorer came up from the depths. "this is certainly a queer deal i'm getting," he said, complainingly. "what's the matter now?" asked josh, tantalizingly. "why, i tell you there's nothing down here," replied hanky panky. "my eyes have got used to the dark, and i can see perfectly well. all around me is the stone of the well, the water is just under my feet, but high or low i can't see a single sign of anybody." "didn't i tell you so?" asked josh, laughing harshly; "the old well must be a haunted one, i reckon. if that was really a groan we heard it was given by a ghost, or a goblin, and not a living being." "hey! that's enough, josh! get me up out of here quick, i tell you!" called hanky panky, shaking the rope vigorously; "you promised you would, remember!" josh was chuckling at a great rate; nevertheless when rod signalled to him he condescended to lend a hand, and between the two of them they speedily had hanky panky up safely, none the worse for his experiment, but looking deeply puzzled. "that's the queerest thing i've run across for many a day," he was saying; "but you notice that it doesn't come any more now, since i went down. oh! thunder! i spoke too soon, didn't i?" the sounds had indeed started in again with even more vigor than before. hanky panky, catching what seemed like a chuckle, suddenly turned on josh. "i've tumbled to your silly game at last, josh," he said, pointing a finger at the other in a stern fashion; "somehow i clean forgot how you used to be such a smarty at throwing your voice, and aimed some day to be a regular ventriloquist on the stage. well, you _did_ fool me all right, i own up; and i had my climb down into the old well for nothing. hope you're satisfied now. let's take another drink all around, and then get along." hanky panky was one of those good-natured fellows who could laugh at a clever joke even when himself the victim; so that he did not bear any grudge for the way in which josh had deluded him. "but i'm glad anyhow that i didn't lose my grip, and drop into the water," he went on to say; "because it was terribly cold down there." "all's well that ends well!" croaked josh, with a happy grin, for he believed he had once more cleared the slate in the account with his fun-loving comrade. soon afterwards they left the ruined place and once more started along the road. again they came upon scenes of desolation, with clusters of natives standing by the ruins of their late possessions, to wave an encouraging hand as the three boys sped past. doubtless many of them believed rod and his mates must belong to some section of the brave french army, for their khaki uniforms seemed to proclaim this. and every little helped when the gigantic task of turning the invaders out of france was considered, even the assistance of a trio of half-grown lads. if things kept up as they were now going rod confidently believed they would be close to the battle line again inside of two hours. the roar of the guns announced that severe fighting was going on not many miles distant. they were making only slow progress at this time, so many obstacles impeded their way. numerous stops were also made so that rod could exchange a few sentences with some of the people they came upon, so as to pick up information that might prove of advantage to strangers in a section of country new to them. there was no time when right and left they could not see a myriad of interesting things. most of them pertained to warfare--marching troops; strings of prisoners being led to the rear; broken caissons and abandoned guns; wrecked bicycles, and even motorcycles cast aside when of no further service to the retreating germans; cooking outfits that had been wonderful contrivances before being utterly smashed on their late owners finding they could not be taken along; and other things too numerous to mention. rod himself was of the opinion that the enterprising peasants might manage to partly indemnify themselves for their losses by taking possession of some of the various things abandoned, and renewing their usefulness. it was now getting well on toward noon. hanky panky had even been heard to call out that he felt hungry, though rod could see little hope of appeasing their appetites in that country, so thoroughly cleaned out by the enemy. suddenly there came an outburst of heavy firing close at hand. it was so furious that the three boys involuntarily stopped short, and huddled together to compare notes, so that they might decide upon the safest course for them to pursue. smoke began to climb upwards above the trees not more than a mile away, where rod had reason to believe the marne river ran. "that's where the fight is going on, rod, you can see!" shouted josh, eagerly, pointing as he spoke; "look at the french batteries wheeling into position, would you? they mean to give the germans a lot of pounding, looks like. i wonder what it all means; can you give a guess, rod?" rod could, and lost no time in advancing his opinion. "from what i heard when i talked with that last bunch of natives," he called out, for the racket was growing more deafening with every minute's passage, "there's a ford to the river right about that place. now like as not the germans have determined to dispute the passage of the crossing, and left a big force there to hold joffre's men in check. the battle for that ford is now starting up, and it will be a pretty stiff fight unless all signs fail." chapter xxiii. the thunder of opposing batteries. standing there they used their eyes to the best advantage, though none of them felt fully satisfied with their position. josh looked enviously at a spot only a short distance away. it was something of a small elevation, and he felt positive that if only they could manage to reach it their chances of seeing all that went on would be immeasurably enhanced. "yes," rod was saying, loud enough for the others to hear him, "i'm afraid, too, his regiment is going to be in the thick of that desperate battle for the possession of the ford across the marne." "do you mean andre?" demanded hanky panky, instantly. "just who i meant," came the reply. the others knew that as rod spoke french, and had talked with a number of people as well as soldiers on the road, he must be primed with information such as had not fallen to their lot. hence it never occurred to either of them to question the accuracy of anything he might say. "that would be too bad for all of us," remarked josh, "if anything happened to andre, just when we got within stone's-throw of him. but rod, do we have to stay right here, and do our looking?" "what makes you ask that, josh?" "well, you see, there's a whole lot better place over yonder, if only we could reach it; but i'm afraid lugging our machines over the rough ground would be too big a job." at that rod took a glance, and of course saw the advantages to be attained by a shift in their position. "it might be done," he told the anxious josh, "if we cared to try and conceal our wheels somewhere near by, and walked or ran over to the rise." "would that be safe?" asked hanky panky, fearful lest they after all lose their mounts, and be compelled to walk, or depend on getting an occasional lift from some vehicle going in the direction of paris. "reasonably so, i think," admitted the leader. encouraged by his tone josh began to cast about in the hope of discovering a hiding place that would stand the test. this he speedily succeeded in doing, for josh had sharp eyes, and could see things in a flash that it would take another a long time in finding out. so they made haste to hide the trio of motorcycles in the shrubbery, hoping no one might by accident force a way through just at that particular point, and discover what had been left there. "now let's whoop it up for the rise!" suggested the eager josh, for the sound of the battle had grown so insistent that he was fairly wild to see everything going on. they all ran in a bunch, for rod held josh in, so that hanky panky might not be left too far behind. when they arrived at the place picked out for their station they found that, just as josh had guessed, it was admirably fitted for their purpose. brief though the time had been taken up with this strategic maneuver the fight had evidently progressed beyond the preliminary artillery duel. true, the guns on either side of the marne were thundering fearfully, and every time a battery sent out its winged messengers of death the very earth seemed to tremble under the boyish trio, who crouched there, and gazed with their hearts fluttering in their breasts like those of frightened birds when held in the hand. the germans had left quite a strong detachment of their forces behind to defend that particular ford, which evidently assumed an important position in the eyes of the commander. the marne could not be crossed with heavy artillery in all that section without the building of a bridge to replace those destroyed by the retreating teutons, which would take a certain measure of time to execute. but it was possible to get the guns across here at the ford, for that was what the germans themselves had done. and a crossing here in force would mean that the pursuing columns of the french must creep that much closer to the precious big guns which the germans were doing everything in their power to save from capture. a thousand men might be sacrificed in this endeavor, but what of that? human material could be replaced readily enough, but it took months to build up one of those magnificent forty-two centimetre mortars with which they meant to batter down the defences of paris, and win the war. at the moment the three boys reached their point of observation things were rapidly drawing near a crisis. the french troops were undoubtedly getting wild to be let loose upon the waiting enemy; only their commander knew that the chances were as two to one they would not be able to get across the river so long as that one battery in particular commanded the ford. its shells were able to sweep over every yard of the crossing, and could cut down those who were wading desperately through the waist-deep water, as though they were helpless flies. "what are they waiting for, do you think, rod?" asked josh, between the roars of the opposing guns. "the french leader hates to sacrifice so many of his brave men while that battery is in a position to sweep the ford," replied the other, without hesitation, showing that he had grasped the situation even in that brief time. "well, tell me how he expects to get rid of the same?" continued josh, though he had to place his lips close to rod's ear, and fairly bellow his words in order to make himself heard, such was the increasing din close by. "perhaps he keeps hoping that some of his own guns will be able to locate the german battery among the bushes there, and disable it," said rod. hanky panky pulled at his sleeve. when rod turned his head he found the other pointing excitedly upwards, and upon casting his own eyes in that quarter rod instantly knew what his chum meant. "two french aeroplanes going up, sure enough!" he exclaimed. "mebbe they mean to try and drop bombs on the battery, so's to destroy it!" suggested josh, whose attention had also been drawn to the new feature in the lively drama taking place before them. rod nodded his head to signify that the idea struck him as worth while. even had he attempted to speak just then his effort would have been pretty much wasted, for the din had become something terrible. a thousand french soldiers were cheering, even while being held in check by their officers; they made rod think of hounds restrained by the leash, and loudly bewailing their inability to jump forward. he could easily imagine with what frantic zeal those men would leap ahead and into the waters of the marne when the time came. up higher and higher soared the twin aeroplanes, climbing in eccentric spirals. evidently the daring birdmen intended to attain a certain height where they might feel reasonably safe from the shrapnel sent after them from antiaircraft guns manned by the germans; when they would try their luck in dropping the bombs they undoubtedly carried with them, in hopes of making a lucky shot. "it's going to come soon, i guess!" ventured josh, when a brief lull in all the firing allowed him a chance to get in a few words. "yep," added hanky panky, who was getting a stiff neck with looking up so long; "right now you can see that they're sailing around like they might be looking for a good place to hover. but they'd better take care, because that shrapnel is bursting just below them, and some time a shell might hit home." a loud whoop from josh instantly followed these words. "there, one let go a bomb, as sure as you live!" he shouted; "look and see where it hits!" quickly following came a report, and the boys could see the earth fly in showers. "not by a jugful!" whooped hanky panky, also carried away with the excitement of the moment; "they'll have to aim better than that if they expect to knock the german battery out of business." the second airman tried his hand, and while possibly he managed to do a little better than the first the result was also disappointing. evidently they were at too great a height to be able to strike a small mark like the hidden battery. at that early stage in the war which had been sprung so suddenly on france, her aviators had not as yet become proficient in this sort of shooting; later on when they had been given much practice, the result was bound to be quite different. when the birdmen had exhausted all their bombs and made no impression on the dangerous battery they were compelled to desist and circle around. evidently it was the intention of the air scouts while aloft to learn all they could connected with the disposition of the german forces. this information would prove valuable to the french commander, whether able to win the coveted ford or not. "will they give up trying to cross over now?" asked hanky panky, after it was seen that the efforts of the circling birdmen, much more than half a mile aloft, had not met with any sort of success. "that isn't the usual french way of fighting, if all i've heard and seen of them cuts any figure in the game!" josh exclaimed. rod, too, seemed to be of the same opinion. "i think they must be getting ready to make a mad effort to rush the ford," he went on to say; "you notice that their guns are silent just now; but that's done so they can burst out with a more terrible bombardment than ever, under cover of which the attack will be started." "but why all this row over just one contemptible little ford?" asked hanky panky innocently. josh snorted at hearing this. "why, can't you see what it means to both sides to control a crossing where the artillery can get over without building a bridge?" he demanded. "to hold up the french here the germans would be willing to sacrifice thousands of their best men, because it would save their big guns now on the way north. there, it's coming, i do believe." none of them heard the last words spoken by josh, and for a very good reason. every gun the french had within a mile of the ford began to bellow in concert, and the ground shook under the concussion. across on the other side they could see the shells bursting everywhere. it seemed as though they sought out each place where they suspected hostile batteries or columns of troops might lie in hiding, thus fairly raking the entire vicinity. this was "preparing the ground for the seed," as army men would put it. when this fierce "spraying" was well under way no doubt the order that had been awaited so long and impatiently by the concealed french soldiers was to be given; when they would start toward the bank of the river and strike into the shallow water, breasting their way across if possible. the three boys fairly held their breath with awe, knowing what was coming next. hanky panky crouched there shivering like one who had the "shakes," yet wholly unable to drag his horrified eyes away from the grim spectacle of war that was passing before him. josh, on the other hand, had arisen to his feet, knowing that there was little or no chance of his being noticed and fired at, unless indeed some german gunner conceived the idea that they were a group of french officers observing the progress of the battle from an eminence. this dreadful "spraying" with fire had gone on for some little time now when rod saw signs that told him the expected event was coming. he could not have made his chums hear, no matter how he shouted, and so he contented himself with clutching each of them, hanky panky by the arm and josh by the calf of his leg. they knew what he meant by this action, too, even though not a word was uttered. the violent gunfire was being kept up, but from several points there suddenly burst into view living streams of french soldiers racing madly for the ford, and every man apparently wild to be the first to attempt the deadly crossing. chapter xxiv. a french hero. "can they ever do it?" undoubtedly this was what was filling the heart and brain of each of those boys as they watched the living stream of french rapidly draw nearer the river ford commanded by that destructive german battery, and which thus far they had not been able to reach and silence with their own guns and aeroplane attacks. the time between the uprising of these troops and their reaching the shallow water of the ford was of very brief duration. undoubtedly the french had crept up just as close as the nature of the ground would permit them to go unseen. still to those anxious hearts on the little rise it must have seemed dreadfully long, owing to the strain they were laboring under. as yet the germans had held their fire, for not a man of the attacking force had fallen save when they stumbled, only to rise again. possibly hanky panky may even have deluded himself with the hope that when it came to a pinch the germans had deemed it best to give up their desperate intention of defending the ford to the last gasp. josh knew better, because he understood the holdfast nature of the teutons better than did his chums. and he was mentally figuring on just when the bitter blast would break forth that was going to mow down those valiant men with the red trousers and the blue tunics rushing pell-mell forward with such ringing huzzas. at least the men separated as they ran, doubtless following the instructions of their officers. this was bound to be of advantage to them, since the fire of the enemy could not cut them down as ripe grain falls before the scythe of the reaper or the revolving knives of the modern mowing machine. "some may manage to get across anyhow!" josh was telling himself, as though seeking comfort. now the first of the french had reached the bank. they leaped impetuously into the water and hastened to start across. as they advanced of course they waded deeper, and their pace lessened. was this just what those cool, calculating german gunners were waiting for? rod expected to hear the first crash at any second now. how his heart went out to those gallant fellows splashing through the river at the disputed ford. he felt as though he must shut his eyes so as not to see what was fated to occur; but for the life of him he could not. some power beyond his control forced him to continue to crouch there and stare with all his might and main, as though he must omit no small detail of the amazing picture. the ford was now fairly alive with moving figures, all pushing hurriedly toward the other shore, where not a german could be seen. the bushes in that quarter lay there as unassuming as though every one did not conceal a foe with ready rifle waiting for the order to come to pour in a terrific fire. that was the picture rod would often recall in days to come. it was stamped on his memory in imperishable colors--the bright sunlight, the hovering clouds of billowy powder smoke, the gay uniforms of the charging frenchmen, the sombre, oppressive silence hovering over the opposite bank of the river--all these things had a part in the never-to-be-forgotten scene. then it seemed as though some volcano, long held in check, must have burst the confines of nature in a mighty convulsion. from several points there came the thunderous discharge of batteries, while a thousand rifles added their sharper notes to the dreadful chorus. and the men in the river, what of them? scores could be seen to throw up their arms and disappear, the current doubtless bearing them away. others were forced to turn and start back to the shore they had so recently left, having been wounded more or less severely. gaps appeared in the various groups, showing what terrible carnage those guns in the leading german battery had already executed. still the forward movement had not been as yet effectually stopped. those who were thus far uninjured kept pushing ahead, even though they must realize that it was into the very jaws of death they advanced. and rod found himself filled with sincere admiration for the bravery they exhibited. he had read of similar things many times, but seeing with his own eyes an exhibition of such wonderful valor was an entirely different matter. oh! how he hoped and prayed that in the end some of those frenchmen might manage to reach the other shore which they aspired to gain. but when the german guns continued to roar and send torrents of iron hail into the ranks of the adventurous french it began to look very much as though not a single man might be able to accomplish the passage of the disputed ford. hanky panky could stand it no longer. he rolled over and hid his face, while thrusting the forefinger of each hand as deeply into his ears as he could, evidently with the hope of shutting out all that dreadful noise. not so josh, who, though very white, and trembling with excitement, still continued to stand there, drinking it all in eagerly, as one might something that was fairly intoxicating his senses. the war drama did not last long. under that murderous fire the french soldiers in the water fairly melted away. some managed to return safely to the side of the stream held by their comrades, but by far the larger number seemed to have vanished. further down the river they could be seen, some of them struggling in the water, with others floating along significantly still. the firing had almost ceased by now, because there was no further need of wasting precious ammunition on the part of the provident germans. the charge of the impetuous french had been stopped, and if they still meant to carry the ford they must gather what was left of their force for a second attempt. still, while that one battery covered the crossing it seemed madness for them to risk the annihilation of their men in another effort. "it was a fluke, after all!" josh was calling out in bitter disappointment; "they never had a chance to get over while that awful battery covered the ford. oh! how i wish a part of them at least had managed to get across. look, rod, as i live, one lone frenchman did succeed in crossing. you can see him crawling along in the scrub there, his red breeches betraying his every movement. just a single one of all that brave lot, and he'll be either killed right away or made a prisoner, like as not!" somehow both boys found themselves compelled to watch the progress of the crawling frenchman. he seemed only a grain of sand on the seashore compared with the mighty forces employed on both sides, and yet at that particular moment he occupied the centre of the stage in their minds. without knowing why this should be so they continued to follow his movements with their eyes. then suddenly josh broke out again. he could make himself heard because there was little if any desultory firing now; the germans were satisfied with the execution already accomplished, while the mortified french held their fire until further plans could be settled upon. "rod, what do you reckon that madman means to try and do?" he asked excitedly; "see how he keeps on creeping straight along toward where that battery is hidden behind some sort of barricade. honest to goodness, now, i believe he means to tackle the entire business all by himself; just like a frenchman for desperate bravery. he must be crazy to think he can do anything unaided, rod." "don't be too sure of that, josh," the other told him immediately; "unless i miss my guess that man has got some project he's meaning to put through, come what will." "oh! now i see what you mean, rod; yes, as sure as anything he's carrying something in his hand, and i do believe it must be a bomb that he's meaning to throw over the barricade on to that battery! it's a great scheme, rod, but with not one chance in ten to succeed." with strained eyes they watched the creeping figure with the telltale red trousers that added so greatly to his peril. shortly afterwards josh broke out again in what might be called a lament. "too bad, too bad, rod, they've glimpsed him at last, just as i was afraid they'd be doing. you can see some of their sharpshooters further back are sending a rain of balls in that direction, for they make little puffs of dust fly up everywhere they strike. he's bound to be hit in a jiffy now. oh! see that, would you?" there could be no question but that one or more of the plunging bullets had reached their intended mark, for the creeping soldier had rolled over as if in agony. "he's done for, poor chap, just as i expected!" cried the sympathizing josh, while even hanky panky once more dared to lift his head and look; but almost immediately afterwards josh changed his tune from despair to one of new hope--"no, he was only badly injured that time, and not killed, you see, because now he's going on again. oh! i take off my hat to that gallant man! there never lived a braver chap, never; and now i do hope he'll get close enough up to fire that bomb he's carrying along with him on to that battery." perhaps the marksmen who were amusing themselves in trying to pick another foeman off did not realize what the french soldier really meant to do. had they grasped the full situation a volley would surely have finished his career, and left his self-appointed mission unfulfilled. josh kept tabs of his movements. he even knew when again the crawling figure gave signs of having been struck once more by some of that leaden hail. this he could tell from the way in which the heroic fellow writhed as in pain. "but, rod, they just _can't_ keel him over, don't you see!" cried the admiring josh, clapping his hands in his excitement; "twice now they've hit him, but he won't give up the game. why, he has to drag that left leg after him all the while, showing where he's been hit. oh! what wouldn't i give for a chance to help him out; but it's no use; he's just got to do it by himself!" the seconds went on. perhaps other eyes were following the slow and painful progress of that lone french hero as he crawled along foot by foot, suffering dreadfully no doubt with every movement, yet never for a minute dismayed. perhaps the eyes of the french commander-in-chief may have been glued on him through his powerful glasses; and realizing what the success of the daring soldier's mission might mean for a second assault on the defenders of the ford, his heart would begin to pick up renewed hope the closer the private crept to the battery. there could be no question as to the unflinching spirit that dwelt in the breast of that particular soldier. rod remembered many things he had read in ancient history, but somehow they all paled into insignificance when with his own eyes he saw this wonderful exhibition of valor unparalleled. the heroic defense of the pass of thermopylã¦; the swimming of the hellespont by leander, yes, and other instances made famous in the annals of history had once struck the boy as wonders in their way, but somehow seeing things was a great deal more impressive than reading about similar happenings. by now the french adventurer had managed to get close up to the place where the terrible offending battery was hidden. doubtless he could see much better than the boys at a distance, and knew where it would be possible to throw his bomb so as to accomplish the maximum of damage. "he's nearly there, rod, and oh! i'm scared almost out of my seven senses for fear they'll get him before he can give that thing a whirl over. there, see, he's trying to get up on his knees now, though it's a hard thing for him to do, because he's so weak from loss of blood, i reckon. bully boy! now you're going to take a fling, and here's wishing you the greatest of luck!" the brave soldier had indeed managed to raise himself part way and with all his reserve strength hurl the bomb he carried over to where the battery lay concealed. chapter xxv. the winning of the river ford. immediately there came a loud crash as the bomb exploded. the exhausted french soldier had no further strength to sustain him, for the boys saw him fall over as though he may have died in the climax of his success. then came the clear, piercing note of a bugle, like a clarion call. it was undoubtedly the signal for another attempt to force a passage of the river, so essential to the success of the french pursuit of the retiring german armies. again did a host of active figures leap into sight from the coverts where until now they had lain concealed awaiting the success or failure of the first action. these were no doubt the reserves intended to be thrown into the breach after some of the others had managed to get safely across and engaged the enemy forces. now they were taking the initiative in pushing across the ford. as the others had done these men also scattered when charging, so that no great collective damage might be wrought when the foe started to fire. they were speedily at the water's edge, and it was then that they anticipated meeting with that sudden avalanche of flame and smoke, and the roaring sound of many guns. somehow it did not come in the volume expected; in fact, while rifles and quick-firing guns started to take their toll the one offensive battery remained singularly silent. rod and josh did not need to be told that the bold frenchman must in some way have succeeded in disabling all the units of that battery when he hurled his bomb over the redoubt. perhaps that terrific crash may have been an ammunition supply exploding and scattering the guns right and left. no matter what the cause the battery was as still as death, a fact that must have filled the anxious heart of the french commander-in-chief with a fierce joy; for its presence there intact promised to make all his work of no avail, despite the unrivaled valor of his men. this time the story was to be quite different, it seemed. some of the leaders in that mad rush were already almost over, and here, there, everywhere they were trying to shoot back as they found a chance to glimpse an enemy hidden amidst the bushes on the bank of the river. josh could hardly contain himself. he jumped up and down "like a flea," as hanky panky afterwards explained it in his peculiar fashion. indeed, to hear josh letting out shrieks and cries one would have imagined the whole battle of the marne ford had been staged for his particular benefit, and that he was enjoying the lively scene with all his heart. now some of the frenchmen were crawling up the bank. they found shelter, such as it was, and immediately began to make good use of their guns, aiming so as to cut down those who were rattling the quick-firing weapons not far away. more and more came up out of the depths, some of them wounded it was true, but with undiminished ardor hurrying on. with the climax of their ambition at hand and an opportunity for a fight at close quarters with the hated enemy granted to them, why should they mind such a small thing as a bullet in the shoulder, or it might be a leg that dragged as they walked? the fire and enthusiasm that filled their hearts prevented them from falling out of the line. some in fact would not know they had been injured until it was all over but the cheering, and a weakness began to overcome them, with the excitement on which they had been living having passed away. josh was waving his hat wildly now. despite the noise and confusion he shouted out his views. in so doing he gave the "escape valve" something to do, and likely enough worked no harm. "and to think it's all owing to the work of that one brave fellow!" was the burden of his outcries. "i'm taking off my hat to _him_ right now. i salute him, living or dead! his family will be proud of him when they learn what a grand thing he really did. talk to me about the cross of the legion of honor; why, that man ought to be made a general--if he lives!" the germans had by no means given up, even when they realized that after all the french had won the passage of the ford. they had been given the task of defending the crossing with their lives, and showed the customary german disregard for death in staying after all was lost. but more and more french were getting over now. they came from every quarter, all filled with ardor and a desire to get in the fight over there. the guns too were being brought closer to the river, so that the retreating germans might be shelled warmly as they left the scene of their stubborn combat. how they splashed across that shallow place in the stream rod would never forget. some, getting off the main ford, found themselves in water breast-high; others actually had to swim for it, holding their guns above their heads so that they might not get wet and refuse to continue the good work of chasing off the germans. it was an inspiring sight--of course only to those who favored the french, for to the enemy it must have proven a most discouraging one--to see those men wild to cross to where the engagement was being fought to a finish. each one, as soon as he could set foot on solid ground, lost no time in starting up the bank and adding his quota to the force of the assailants. and not one single shot had come from that important battery which, more than any other contributing cause, had brought about the first disaster to the french. there could be no question but what that one unknown private soldier, perhaps now dead, had saved the day for his side. luckily none of the germans seemed to have paid any attention to the little assemblage of three figures in faded khaki on that slight rise of ground. at least no annoying shell had fallen near them, nor did the boys at any time catch the irritating whine of a whimpering leaden missile hastening past close to their ears. all of which pleased rod very much, for he certainly felt no desire to mingle in such terrible scenes as had been spread before them of late. well, the end was in sight, for when the french field batteries began to let go it could be easily guessed that they were sending their compliments after that remnant of the enemy now sullenly retreating, and always with faces toward the foe. then came the shrill blast of bugles. this undoubtedly told the french soldiers that victory had fallen to their portion, and that the winning of the marne ford was an accomplished fact. loud arose the huzzas of the survivors. succor for the injured would quickly follow, since no pursuit was expected to be organized. the work to which they had been assigned was now accomplished, and against difficulties that might have frustrated all their efforts only for the one gallant man who made victory possible. rod and his chums cheered with the rest. they seemed somehow to feel that their hearts beat in full sympathy for those frenchmen who were standing up in defense of their native land. josh, more demonstrative than either of his companions, went so far as to actually throw his arms around hanky panky and give him such a bear-like hug that the other's eyes almost popped from his head and his breath came in gasps. "let up on that sort of business, can't you, josh!" he managed to cry indignantly as he broke away from the other's detaining clutch; "what do you take me for anyway? must think you're doing one of the new fangled fox-trot hesitation dances. i've got feelings, i'd have you know; and my ribs are brittle bones in the bargain, not hoop-iron. go hunt up a tree if you must exercise yourself on something. i object!" standing there on the rise of ground they could see the first of the french light batteries crossing the ford, the horses prancing, but forced to drag the guns through the shallow water. later on heavier artillery would also be coming up to follow the fleeing german army, when the full importance of this ford would be better understood. no wonder the tactics of delay upon which the germans were working had forced them to defend such a spot to the limit. "what are we going to do next, rod?" asked josh, when they had stood and watched these events taking place for some little time. "we'll have to hold off until they get things in ship-shape again," replied the other; "you see there are the wounded to attend to, the dead to gather and bury, it may be, as well as a lot of other matters to be looked after. they'll be in no hurry to chase after the enemy, i imagine. their one object was to carry this crossing, and that they've done." "but at a terrible cost to them," sighed hanky panky, as he saw the injured being carried to a central point, where doubtless the field surgeons would be on hand, ready to give them first attention; besides, there had been scores upon scores carried down the river whose fate could only be guessed at. "that's always what war means, i'm afraid," remarked rod, not that he himself was getting hardened by seeing such sights, but because he had a broader vision than hanky panky, and could anticipate what would follow when two hostile forces came in contact at close quarters. "if that was andre's regiment that went in at the first," observed josh gloomily, "i'm mighty much afraid we're going to have all our trouble for our pains; because they were almost wiped out. andre is pretty sure to have been among those who were in the water when that battery got in its heavy work, and--well, the current carried away many a gallant fellow, never to give him up again." "oh! it's hardly as bad as that, josh," remonstrated rod; "a good many managed to get back again, either wounded or whole. if we're lucky we may find andre among that lot. we'll hope to, anyway; and our business will then soon be over." "well, for one i hope and pray we're able to turn our backs on this thing before another sun sets," said hanky panky, with such a sad look on his face that rod was quite sorry they had been tempted to follow up this adventure. still, they had risked their lives in a good cause, and if only that little french woman jeanne and her family could be provided for in the future, despite the schemings of jules baggott, he for one would not feel tempted to complain on account of perils undergone and risks taken. "most of the french have crossed over by now, you notice, rod," observed josh, when some time had crept past, and he could hardly restrain his customary impatience any longer. "and that means you think we should be getting a move on too?" laughed the other, trying to raise the drooping spirits of hanky panky by an assumption of levity which truth to tell rod was himself far from feeling. "well, it seems like we must make the crossing some way or other, and while one of those gun caissons we see coming along is going to get over why not find out if they'd let us climb aboard? it'll save us from getting our feet wet even if it did nothing else." "that isn't a bad idea, josh," commented rod, "and it might be just as well to try it out. these frenchmen are pretty accommodating, and they'll like as not take us for british boys, as has happened so many times before." another troop accompanied by a battery had come up and was starting to reach the northern side of the marne, so as to presently continue the chase after the retreating enemy. it was to the ammunition caissons belonging to this battery that josh had referred. the boys hurried forward now. no one thought to question their right to be present. perhaps this was because of their looks, or the khaki suits they wore, which would be taken for british uniforms. indeed, quite a number of those who were seated on gun carriage or ammunition chest waved to them in the hearty and friendly fashion known to soldiers after a victory has thrilled their blood, making them light-hearted and gay. chapter xxvi. josh makes a discovery. rod soon fixed the transportation part of it, just as his confident chums felt sure he would be able to do. he quickly selected a certain outfit that had stopped on the border of the ford for a minute or so, while a loose portion of the harness was tightened. entering into conversation with the sergeant, who seemed to be in authority, rod explained in a measure who they were and how they came to be loose on the battle lines at such a time as this. then he made his request, and with such simplicity, accompanied by a winning smile, that the dapper frenchman could not have refused his modest request even had his heart not warmed toward these young friends of france from across the sea. "we must get over the river, because it is necessary that we find andre d'aubrey if he is yet alive," rod had gone on to say ingenuously; "and since it would be unpleasant for us to continue our ride if we were soaked to the waist, perhaps m'sieu le sergeant would permit us to climb up with him on the caisson, and accompany him over the ford?" "indeed, it would be a pleasure to have you along with me," hastily replied the non-commissioned officer of the battery, "and as the harness is now repaired, make yourselves at home here, if you can find a lodgment where your feet will be out of the reach of the water." gladly then did the trio of lads accept of his friendly offer. trust them for finding a perch where they would be beyond the reach of the river, unless the soldier astride one of the horses managed to lose the shallow line of the ford and stray into the depths. luckily this did not happen. the water did come close to their feet so that hanky panky was impelled to draw himself up into something of a knot in the fear of getting wet; but the worst was over, so that presently the gun caisson emerged from the marne, and the boys were able to jump down. rod looked about him. it was indeed a stirring picture taken in all, for everywhere the french had occupied the ground so tenaciously defended by the german rearguard. hundreds of soldiers were moving this way and that, with the officers gathering as if for a council of war. other batteries could be seen coming on the gallop toward the captured ford, as though the birdmen aloft may have sent the signal along to tell them that now the coast was clear they could make the passage in safety. some of these were heavier guns than any the boys had as yet seen, showing that the french were hurrying all their available resources forward in order to strike the enemy hard while yet in retreat. "now what, rod?" asked josh. "we'll look around a bit so as to get our bearings," he was told. "it's true we came here on a mission, but perhaps it might be wise not to bother the commander-in-chief in too big a hurry. he's certainly got his hands full as it is, and can't be worried with our private affairs." "i guess that's about so, rod," agreed hanky panky. "to us andre's business may seem mighty important, but why should a general waste a precious minute of his time with any one's affairs, when he's got to map out his movements, with a beaten but still fighting foe ahead?" "look there, fellows!" exclaimed josh just then; "unless i miss my guess that must be the hero of the battle they're fetching in right now." "see how the men take their caps off, will you?" said hanky panky reverently; "i'd feel like doing the same myself if he came near me, because it was his work that really made the passage of the ford possible. they all know it too, and just now they fairly worship that lucky chap." "oh! i hope it doesn't mean he's dead!" exclaimed josh with a tinge of deep regret in his voice; "that'd be too everlasting bad, you know, after he'd won his promotion, and the cross these frenchmen prize so much." "no, he is still alive, because i saw him wave his hand feebly just then when he passed that group of cheering soldiers," said rod quickly. "bully for that!" exploded josh exultantly; "somehow or other i just seem to be taking a personal interest in that brave chap, as if he might be a friend of mine, though of course i wouldn't know him from adam. but a thousand pair of eyes saw what he did, and the army of france knows how to honor such a hero. we must find out his name before we leave here, rod, that's sure." "i'll not forget to ask it!" declared the other positively, "because we'll want to write it down in our log. whatever his name turns out to be it's bound to go down to posterity as belonging to one of the heroes of the battle of the marne." "there," continued hanky panky, "see, the general is going over himself to see the wounded man now. why, even he takes off his military cap. it must be a proud time for the man who threw that bomb and wrecked the german battery. he not only won the ford for his side, but like as not saved the lives of scores of his comrades." rod was considering his plan of campaign. "you can see that some of the officers are gathering under that shed yonder," he went on to explain. "i reckon they mean to hold their council of war there, because it looks like the best shelter around. i wouldn't be surprised if the german forces had the same places for headquarters before their retreat, because i can see a table there and some camp chairs." "yes, and then, too, it seems to be out of range of the batteries that were on the other side of the river; sort of protected as it were," josh observed, for he was quick to notice such things. "all right," rod wound up by saying; "our plan is to hang around until the war council breaks up, and then try to find a chance to speak with the commander-in-chief. all we want to do is to show him who and what we are, and then ask about andre. he may not have the time to bother with it himself, but i hope he will put us in charge of some subordinate officer who can tell us what we want to know, as well as take us to andre, if so be the poor fellow still lives." while waiting they strolled around the immediate vicinity, being considerably interested in all that was going on. josh in particular seemed disposed not to lose anything. he moved this way and that, now watching the labors of a string of men dragging at a rope by means of which they were helping the horses attached to a heavy gun pull the same up out of the river; and a little later even observing the field surgeon and his assistants binding up the grievous wounds of scores of poor fellows who had been more or less injured in the battle. rod was seated on a stump and thinking seriously of their own affairs when he suddenly became aware of the fact that his two chums were hurrying toward him. he could also see that they looked both excited and grave, as though something had happened to alarm them. of course the first thing that came into rod's mind was bad news; he feared that in some way they might have learned about the fate of andre, and were now hurrying to tell him all their efforts had been in vain, for the husband of poor jeanne could never sign his name to the paper they carried. "is he dead, then?" was the way he addressed them as they came panting up. "oh! it isn't about andre, rod!" gasped hanky panky. "what then?" questioned the other, at the same time giving a sigh of relief, for he had feared the worst. "it's something josh here hit on, that's given us both a bad shock; he'll tell you, rod," continued the other, who was trembling visibly. "it's just this way, you see," josh spoke up. "there's a german soldier hiding close by, a wild-looking chap in the bargain. whee! but he's got staring eyes, and he makes me think of a crazy man." "oh! he must be one of their wounded," said rod; "when they pulled out in such a big hurry they couldn't take all with them, and some had to be abandoned. this fellow in hiding that you've run across must be hurt in the legs, and couldn't get away with the rest." josh shook his head with a vim. "excuse me, rod, but i don't think you've hit the real secret," he went on to say. "this man has stayed here _for a purpose_, and he's about ready to lose his own life, i'd say, so as to carry it out. i really and truly believe he must have a screw loose in the upper story." "go on," said rod, seeing that josh evidently knew more than he had as yet explained. "i just noticed him by the merest accident," explained the other. "he's hiding in a hole in the ground. i happened to see him lift his head, and noticed that he wore the dark green uniform of a german soldier. then i discovered something else, rod, that gave me a cold feeling, and made the chills run down my back." "go on, and hurry, too!" advised rod. "it was a wire, rod, a wire that seemed to come up out of the ground, and disappear by the side of a tree. it headed straight for the shelter that used to be the headquarters of the german staff, and where the french officers are gathering right now, waiting for the general to join them." "a wire, did you say, josh?" demanded rod, starting up, and looking white. "yes, and ten chances to one there's a mine, planted under headquarters, which he means to explode so as to blow up the french staff, general and all." chapter xxvii. wonderful news. "if what you suspect is true, josh," said rod hurriedly, "we must do something to baffle the terrible game he is bent on playing. can you lead us to the place where the man is hiding, and is it possible to get close to him without his knowing about our being there?" "sure thing, rod; why, i could have jumped down on his back if i'd wanted to; but i just moved away as slick as you please." on second thoughts, however, rod changed his plan. what he had contemplated trying seemed too risky; for if the man learned that his plot was discovered he might touch the key and explode the mine before the boys could master him, even though all the staff including the general himself had not gathered as yet under the headquarters shelter. "i'll try and get in touch with the officers before the council is called," he told his comrades, and immediately started off. it was an object with rod to hasten his steps, and yet at the same time try not to arouse any suspicion. if he were detained on the way precious seconds would be lost, and after all he might fail to save the french officers from a dreadful fate at the hands of a crazy german soldier. arriving close to the shelter of which mention has been made, rod boldly singled out a man who he fancied would be apt to listen to him. "pardon, monsieur," he said hastily, "but by accident myself and friends have just learned that there is a scheme afoot to blow up this shelter while you and your brave fellow officers are in conference. even now a madman lies hidden close by, his finger on a battery, and ready to close the circuit in haste. i am come to give you warning. please do not exhibit any alarm, but arrange it so that every one may spring away from this place when you give the word!" the officer stared hard at him, as indeed he had good reason to. the information was certainly of a thrilling nature, and well calculated to arouse a chill in the region of his heart. again that frank and fearless face of rod convinced his listener of the truth of his story, even though it seemed so remarkable and monstrous. the officer turned to his four companions and said something to them in a low but positive tone. from their startled looks it was soon evident that they chose to take the warning most seriously. all at once he uttered a loud cry. it was the signal agreed upon, for every man proceeded to leap away from the shelter and make haste to place as many yards as possible between headquarters and his own person. rod had taken care to be on his way before this, since his object had already been accomplished. if any of those french officers had felt disposed to doubt the truth of the astounding story that had been brought to them by the american boy they found immediate cause to change their minds. hardly had the last of them succeeded in leaving the shelter than there came a heavy shock, and up into the air arose the fragments of the cover under which they had just been gathered. had they remained where they were ten seconds before not one of them would have likely escaped death or severe bodily injuries. a loud shout from josh just then called attention to a running figure. the hidden conspirator, seeing that his mad scheme had proven a failure, must have crept forth from his hiding place, and was hoping to escape in the general confusion. but his uniform betrayed him, and presently guns began to sound, until finally they saw him curl up on the ground. it was later on found that he had only been wounded, and he was brought in, foaming at the mouth. there could be no doubt regarding his condition, for even a tyro might see that he was crazy, perhaps from a wound received in the head in some earlier stage of the great battle. it was not believed that german officers would connive at such a dastardly scheme as trying to blow up a shelter under which the french staff had gathered for consultation; and in the end it was put down as only the plot of one who was wholly irresponsible. of course the three american boys were thanked most heartily by the officers whose lives they had saved. it promised to turn out to be one of the best things that could have happened for them; and, as josh remarked, their old luck seemed to be working at full speed. they were soon summoned into the presence of the general, who, with his staff gathered about him, publicly thanked rod and his chums for their recent act. he shook their hands with considerable feeling, as became an effusive frenchman whose life was not only valuable to himself and his beloved country in time of need, but also to the wife and children who awaited news of his labors at home, and daily prayed for his safety. while they stood there the madman was brought past, screaming and carrying on in a frightful manner. he must have been connected with the engineer or signal corps of the enemy forces, to have the knowledge of explosives that he did, as well as the ability to lay his wires so as not to attract attention. the boys could admire any deed of daring that was meant to further the cause of a soldier's heart; but to plot to blow up a whole staff in such a treacherous way was something that could only originate in a disordered mind, and filled them with horror. "now tell me who you are, and what brings you here at such a time, when france is bleeding from ten thousand wounds, and paris has only been saved as through a miracle?" it was, of course, the general who asked this. he was looking into the expressive face of rod while speaking, and perhaps unconsciously saying to himself that if his oldest boy ever grew up to be such a manly looking young fellow as this american cousin he would be contented; for that was usually the way rod impressed those whom he met. rod was just about to answer and explain as briefly as possible, for he knew how valuable time must be with this brave officer, when something interrupted him. a number of men were passing and carrying a stretcher upon which lay one of their number. rod guessed that this must be the hero of the battle when he saw every officer make a salute that could only stand for his appreciation toward valor beyond all parallel. "that's the man who threw the bomb that saved the ford!" said josh to hanky panky, as the little procession drew near. evidently the wounded man had received attention at the hands of the field surgeon, and was now about to be placed in an ambulance and taken to paris with an escort of honor to guard him. nothing could be too good for him in the opinion of those who had observed his daring deed. the general laid his hand on rod's arm. "come," he said kindly, "it seems that you too witnessed the wonderful feat performed by this hero of heroes. perhaps you would be glad to say you had taken his hand when you return to your native country. i am pleased to say he will undoubtedly live to receive the honors that a grateful france is ready to shower on his head." "thank you, monsieur le general," said rod warmly; "i speak for my comrades as well when i say we would esteem it an honor to meet him; and we also hope and pray he may live to see victory come to france." accompanying the general, they advanced toward the party with the stretcher. the attendants had halted at a signal from the commander-in-chief, and set their burden down. rod saw the face of the man who had dared all to save his fellows. somehow it seemed to him that somewhere or other he must have met him before, although for the life of him rod could not imagine how that could be. "this, then, is the one man whose act made the taking of the ford possible," said the french general; "and when you remember what this day you have witnessed, always place high on the roll of fame the honored name of andre d'aubrey, to whom we who have fought the battle for the ford owe all our success!" "what! _our_ andre, and a hero of heroes at that!" cried josh, able to grasp the amazing fact, even if much that the general had said was as greek to him; "now what do you think of that, hanky panky?" as for the party in question, he could only stare and shake his head as though utterly unable to understand what it meant. rod suddenly remembered why the face of the man on the stretcher had seemed so familiar. when jeanne told him all about her troubles he had been looking at the small boy who accompanied her on her milk route with the dog team; and it was andre's son whose face was in his mind when he stared at the father, for the lad was certainly "a chip off the old block." things could hardly have turned out better for the three motorcycle boys. why, not only would andre have witnesses when he signed the document, but high honors awaited him after he had recovered from his wounds. jeanne in her far-distant, humble home in antwerp must soon hear great tidings that would bring her much joy. no wonder then that rod hastened to pour out the story in his best french. chapter xxviii. conclusion. when the main facts of the story had been told the impulsive and gallant french general insisted that the paper be signed, with him and members of his staff as witnesses. he also declared that he would see to it that the family of andre should be brought on to paris with as little delay as possible; because it was expected that sooner or later the germans would decide to take antwerp. all this filled rod and his chums with the greatest of pleasure. the wounded man was looking exceedingly happy, for the news he had just received concerning his loved ones filled him with more delight than even the prospect of receiving great military honors, and possibly being made a captain on account of his recent feat. nor was this all, it seemed. while rod was relating his story he had noticed that a man who was not in uniform had approached, and seemed to be listening intently. thinking that he might be some one who desired to make a report to the general, rod had paid little attention to this unknown party. judge of his astonishment and delight as well when the other pushed forward, making a respectful salute to the commander-in-chief, and announced his identity. "behold in me the villain of the piece," he remarked grimly; "i am jules baggott, the cousin who plotted to keep andre from receiving the inheritance our uncle had planned to give him. with shame i confess it now, but, my general, never again would i be guilty of conspiring against a member of my family who has won for it and for france such imperishable renown. i, too, saw what andre did, and even though i had the power to destroy that paper at this minute i would scorn to do so. here and now i beg his forgiveness. his wife and family have reason to be proud of him, even as we are." rod never knew whether jules meant all he said. he did not altogether like the man's looks; but his words were fair enough, and he acted as though for once in his life he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. it turned out that jules could not serve as a soldier on account of lacking the sight in one of his eyes; so there was really nothing to his discredit in his absence from the army. in reality he had become a member of the secret service, and doubtless would find a means in that capacity to do his part in the long war that faced france. of course the general could not give them any more of his valuable time. he did shake hands all around again at parting, and assured rod that he would take a personal interest in seeing that andre and his family were speedily reunited in paris. with that the boys believed they had good reason to feel satisfied; and that they could conscientiously give over their adventurous and perilous journey to the battle front where the two rival armies were fighting so desperately day after day. hanky panky in particular displayed considerable delight at the prospect of once more turning their faces toward home. he had, to tell the truth, become weary of all these pictures of savage warfare, and yearned to again gaze upon peaceful scenes such as the country beyond the sea held in store for them. faces of his boyhood friends were appearing before him in his dreams every single night, and too the loved ones left behind had never seemed one half so precious as now. "this fighting business may be all very well for those who like it," hanky panky was saying as they prepared to cross the ford again, this time on the ambulance that would take andre, as well as several other wounded men, to the hospitals of paris, "but i'm not much of a hand at that game. baseball and football are the limit of my scrapping abilities. this thing of standing up before a quick-firing battery, and getting punched all full of holes, doesn't appeal to me at all, though josh here seems to never get enough of watching men shoot each other down." "oh! say, don't make me out to be a regular _savage_," remonstrated josh, in turn; "i feel just as bad as the next one to see a man get hurt; but my folks came of a line of soldiers, i guess, because some of 'em fought in the revolutionary war; so it must be in my blood to want to see stirring sights all the time. now, i wouldn't be caught attending a bull fight, or even watching two roosters scrap, because that makes me sick; but when men are standing up and sacrificing their lives for love of their country it somehow just thrills me to the marrow, and i never can drag myself away. but all the same i confess i'll be glad to get back home again. there are plenty of ways to get excitement without being on the battle line." they took a last look around them, wishing to carry away a full remembrance of the scene at the captured ford. how often would every item of that never-to-be-forgotten engagement come back to haunt them in memory, as time passed, and they found themselves amidst other surroundings. in the bellowing of the thunder they might start up in bed to again fancy themselves listening to the roar of the guns on both sides of the marne; in imagination to see the valiant french as they splashed through the breast-high waters, seeking to reach the bank where the grim germans held the fort, and poured such a merciless fire upon them. so they crossed the river again, dryshod, and hastened to where they had secreted their precious motorcycles. according to rod they would possibly be able to make the french capital before night had fully set in; but even though delayed on the road this could easily be accomplished on the morrow. then, after getting a little rest, they would strike out for havre or boulogne, and take passage across on the first boat that could give them any sort of accommodations; for in the rush of american tourists to get home people were even willing to sleep in the steerage in order to quit the inhospitable shores of europe in flames. "take your last look back, fellows," said rod, after they had said good-bye to andre and recovered their machines. they stood on a slight eminence from which they could see the river and the french forces beyond. apparently the council of war had been of brief duration, and must have settled on starting in pursuit of the fleeing german rearguard, for already the troops were in motion, with batteries hastening along the road taken by the enemy. "good luck to you all!" said josh, waving his hat toward the frenchmen, whom they had come to regard highly; "and here's wishing that when the end of the war comes it will bring glory to france; for her noble sons deserve everything that is good. and now, rod, say the word, and we'll make our getaway from here." "then here goes!" called out the leader, as he straddled his machine and started his engine. with a succession of popping reports he was off, hanky panky quickly following suit, and josh bringing up the rear. thus they started toward paris, with high hopes of getting to the french capital before long, and then continuing their journey to the coast. whether they succeeded in escaping any more thrilling perils or not while in the country of the great war does not concern us just now; all that can be left to another story at some future date. they had played a manly part in taking up the cause of the poor little woman in antwerp, and believed they would never be sorry on account of having decided to search for andre on the battle line before paris. the end. * * * * * * the big five motorcycle boys series by ralph marlow price, 40 cents per volume, postpaid it is doubtful whether a more entertaining lot of boys ever before appeared in a story than the "big five," who figure in the pages of these volumes. from cover to cover the reader will be thrilled and delighted with the accounts of their many adventures. the big five motorcycle boys on the battle line; or, with the allies in france. the big five motorcycle boys at the front; or, carrying dispatches through belgium. the big five motorcycle boys under fire; or, with the allies in the war zone. the big five motorcycle boys' swift road chase; or, surprising the bank robbers. the big five motorcycle boys on florida trails; or, adventures among the saw palmetto crackers. the big five motorcycle boys in tennessee wilds; or, the secret of walnut ridge. the big five motorcycle boys through by wireless; or, a strange message from the air. the boy chums series by wilmer m. ely price, 40 cents per volume, postpaid in this series of remarkable stories are described the adventures of two boys in the great swamps of interior florida, among the cays off the florida coast, and through the bahama islands. these are real, live boys, and their experiences are worth following. the boy chums in mystery land; or, charlie west and walter hazard among the mexicans. the boy chums on indian river; or, the boy partners of the schooner "orphan." the boy chums on haunted island; or, hunting for pearls in the bahama islands. the boy chums in the forest; or, hunting for plume birds in the florida everglades. the boy chums' perilous cruise; or, searching for wreckage on the florida coast. the boy chums in the gulf of mexico; or, a dangerous cruise with the greek spongers. the boy chums cruising in florida waters; or, the perils and dangers of the fishing fleet. the boy chums in the florida jungle; or, charlie west and walter hazard with the seminole indians. the boy scouts series by herbert carter price, 40 cents per volume, postpaid the boy scouts on war trails in belgium; or, caught between the hostile armies. in this volume we follow the thrilling adventures of the boys in the midst of the exciting struggle abroad. the boy scouts down in dixie; or, the strange secret of alligator swamp. startling experiences awaited the comrades when they visited the southland. but their knowledge of woodcraft enabled them to overcome all difficulties. the boy scouts at the battle of saratoga. a story of burgoyne's defeat in 1777. the boy scouts' first camp fire; or, scouting with the silver fox patrol. this book brims over with woods lore and the thrilling adventure that befell the boy scouts during their vacation in the wilderness. the boy scouts in the blue ridge; or, marooned among the moonshiners. this story tells of the strange and mysterious adventures that happened to the patrol in their trip among the moonshiners of north carolina. the boy scouts on the trail; or, scouting through the big game country. the story recites the adventures of the members of the silver fox patrol with wild animals of the forest trails and the desperate men who had sought a refuge in this lonely country. the boy scouts in the maine woods; or, the new test for the silver fox patrol. thad and his chums have a wonderful experience when they are employed by the state of maine to act as fire wardens. the boy scouts through the big timber; or, the search for the lost tenderfoot. a serious calamity threatens the silver fox patrol. how apparent disaster is bravely met and overcome by thad and his friends, forms the main theme of the story. the boy scouts in the rockies; or, the secret of the hidden silver mine. the boys' tour takes them into the wildest region of the great rocky mountains and here they meet with many strange adventures. the boy scouts on sturgeon island; or, marooned among the game fish poachers. thad brewster and his comrades find themselves in the predicament that confronted old robinson crusoe; only it is on the great lakes that they are wrecked instead of the salty sea. the boy scouts along the susquehanna; or, the silver fox patrol caught in a flood. the boys of the silver fox patrol, after successfully braving a terrific flood, become entangled in a mystery that carries them through many exciting adventures. our young aeroplane scouts series (registered in the united states patent office) by horace porter price, 40 cents per volume, postpaid a series of stories of two american boy aviators in the great european war zone. the fascinating life in midair is thrillingly described. the boys have many exciting adventures, and the narratives of their numerous escapes make up a series of wonderfully interesting stories. our young aeroplane scouts in england; or, twin stars in the london sky patrol. our young aeroplane scouts in italy; or, flying with the war eagles of the alps. our young aeroplane scouts in france and belgium; or, saving the fortunes of the trouvilles. our young aeroplane scouts in germany; or, winning the iron cross. our young aeroplane scouts in russia; or, lost on the frozen steppes. our young aeroplane scouts in turkey; or, bringing the light to yusef. [illustration: dust cover art] [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: "of what offence am i accused, sir?" _page_ 202. _frontispiece_] the dispatch-riders the adventures of two british motor-cyclists in the great war by percy f. westerman author of "rivals of the reef" "the sea-girt fortress" &c. &c. _illustrated by f. gillett_ blackie & son limited london and glasgow 1915 by percy f. westerman the red pirate. the call of the sea. standish of the air police. sleuths of the air. the black hawk. andy all-alone. the westow talisman. the white arab. the buccaneers of boya. rounding up the raider. captain fosdyke's gold. in defiance of the ban. the senior cadet. the amir's ruby. the secret of the plateau. leslie dexter, cadet. all hands to the boats. a mystery of the broads. rivals of the reef. a shanghai adventure. the junior cadet. captain starlight. the sea-girt fortress. on the wings of the wind. captain blundell's treasure. the third officer. unconquered wings. the riddle of the air. chums of the "golden vanity". clipped wings. rocks ahead! king for a month. the disappearing dhow. the luck of the "golden dawn". the salving of the "fusi yama". winning his wings. a lively bit of the front. the good ship "golden effort". east in the "golden gain". the quest of the "golden hope". sea scouts abroad. sea scouts up-channel. the wireless officer. a lad of grit. the submarine hunters. sea scouts all. the thick of the fray at zeebrugge. a sub and a submarine. under the white ensign. with beatty off jutland. the dispatch riders. _printed in great britain by blackie & son, ltd., glasgow_ contents chap. i. the coming storm ii. a break-down iii. major résimont iv. enlisted v. a baptism of fire vi. a vain assault vii. disabling a taube viii. in british uniforms ix. a midnight retirement x. the uhlan patrol xi. the raid on tongres xii. the mail escort xiii. separated xiv. a friend in need xv. captured xvi. entombed xvii. the way out xviii. through the enemy's lines xix. arrested as spies xx. stranded in brussels xxi. denounced xxii. the sack of louvain xxiii. a bolt from the blue xxiv. across the frontier xxv. thelma everest xxvi. self-accused xxvii. with the naval brigade at antwerp xxviii. when the city fell xxix. on the north sea xxx. the victorious white ensign illustrations "of what offence am i accused, sir?" . . . . . . . . . _frontispiece_ kenneth had a momentary glimpse of the uhlan's panic-stricken face ... then crash! kenneth succeeded in throwing the spy to the floor the dispatch-riders chapter i the coming storm "let's make for liége," exclaimed kenneth everest. "what's that?" asked his chum, rollo harrington. "liége? what on earth possesses you to suggest liége? a crowded manufacturing town, with narrow streets and horrible _pavé_. i thought we decided to fight shy of heavy traffic?" the two speakers were seated at an open window of the hôtel doré, in the picturesque town of dinant. in front of them flowed the meuse; its placid water rippled with craft of varying sizes. huge barges, towed by snorting tugs, were laboriously passing along the busy international waterway that serves an empire, a kingdom, and a republic. on the remote bank, and to the right of a bridge, were the quaint red-tiled houses of the town, above which rose the fantastic, pinnacled tower of the thirteenth-century church of notre dame, in turn overshadowed by the frowning limestone crag on which stands the citadel. kenneth was a well-set-up english youth of seventeen. he was tall for his age, and withal broad-shouldered and well-knit. his features were dark, his skin burnt a deep tan by reason of more than a nodding acquaintance with an open-air life. in character and action he was impulsive. he had the happy knack of making up his mind on the spur of the moment, and yet at the same time forming a fairly sound judgment. he was quick, too, with his fingers, having been gifted with a keen, mechanical turn of mind. rollo barrington, who was his companion's junior by the space of three days, was rather the reverse of his versatile friend. he was shorter in height by a good four inches; he was slightly built, although he possessed an unlooked-for reserve of physical strength and endurance. he was fresh-complexioned, with blue eyes and wavy chestnut hair. if kenneth acted upon impulse, rollo went by rule of thumb. he was cool and calculating when occasion served; but when in the company of his chum he was generally content to allow his will to be dominated by the impetuous everest. both lads were at st. cyprian's--a public school of note in the home counties. the vacation started about the middle of july, and it was the custom for the senior members to put in a fortnight's camp with the officers' training corps during the latter part of that month. at the time this story opens--the first day of august, 1914--the two chums were on a motor-cycling tour through northern france and belgium. the parents of neither had offered any objection when their respective sons announced their intention of wandering through the high-roads and by-roads of that part of the continent. kenneth had sprung the suggestion upon his father like the proverbial bombshell; and mr. everest, who was largely responsible for his son's impetuosity, merely acquiesced by observing: "you lucky young dog! i didn't have the chance when i was your age. well, i hope you'll have a good time." on his part rollo had broached the subject with his customary deliberation, and colonel barrington had not only given his consent, but had gone to the extreme toil of producing maps and a baedeker, and had mapped out a route--to which neither of the lads had adhered. the colonel also realized that there was a considerable amount of self-education to be derived from the tour. there was nothing like travel, he declared, to expand the mind; following up this statement by the practical action of "forking out", thereby relieving his son of any fear of pecuniary embarrassment. both lads rode identically similar motor-cycles--tourist models, of 3-½ horse-power, fitted with three-speed hubs. but again the difference in character manifested itself in the care of their respective steeds. rollo had been a motor-cyclist ever since he was fourteen--as soon as he was qualified in point of age to obtain a driver's licence. the close attention he bestowed upon his motor-bike never varied; he kept it as clean as he did in the first few days after taking over his new purchase. he had thoroughly mastered its peculiarities, and studied both the theory and practice of its mechanism. kenneth everest had first bestrode the saddle of a motor-cycle a week before their continental tour began. no doubt his experience as a "push-cyclist" helped him considerably; he quickly mastered the use of the various controls, without troubling to find out "how it worked". with his companion's knowledge at his back he felt quite at ease, since, in the event of any mechanical break-down, rollo would point out the fault, and kenneth's ready fingers would either do or undo the rest. but so far, with the exception of a few tyre troubles, both motor-cyclists had done remarkably well. landing at havre, they had pushed on, following the route taken by the english army that had won agincourt. this, by the by, was rollo's suggestion. from the site of the historic battle-field they had sped eastward, through arras, st. quentin, and mézières. here, finding themselves in the valley of the meuse, they had turned northward, and passing through the french frontier fortress of givet, entered belgium, spending the first night on belgian soil in picturesque dinant. hitherto they had overcome the initial difficulty that confronts british road users in france--the fact that all traffic keeps, or is supposed to keep, to the right. they had endured the horrible and seemingly never-ending cobbles or _pavé_. the language presented little difficulty, for kenneth, prior to having joined st. cyprian's, had been educated in paris; and although his parisian accent differed somewhat from the patois of the ardennes, he had very little trouble in making himself understood. rollo, too, was a fairly proficient french linguist, since, in view of his future military career, he had applied himself with his usual diligence to the study of the language. "i say, what's this wheeze about liége?" persisted harrington. "there's something in the wind, old chap." "it's not exactly liége i want to see," replied kenneth, "although it's a fine, interesting old place, with a history. fact is, my sister thelma is at a boarding-school at visé--that's only a few miles farther on--and we might just as well look her up." "by jove! i ought to have remembered. i knew she was somewhere in belgium. let me see, she's your youngest sister?" "twelve months my junior," replied kenneth, "and a jolly good pal she is, too. it's rather rough luck on her. the pater's just off on that mediterranean trip, so she hasn't been able to go home for the holidays. we'll just cheer her up a bit." rollo gave a final glance at the map before folding it and placing it in his pocket. in response to a summons, the garçon produced the bill and gratefully accepted the modest tip that everest bestowed upon him with becoming public schoolboy dignity. this done, the two lads took their travelling cases and made their way to the hotel garage, where their motor-cycles had been placed under lock and key, out of the reach of sundry inquisitive and mischievous belgian gamins. "hello! what's the excitement?" asked kenneth, pointing to a crowd of gesticulating townsfolk gathered round a notice that had just been pasted to a wall. "ask me another," rejoined his companion. "a circus or something of the sort about to turn up, i suppose. if you're curious i'll hang on here while you go and find out." kenneth was off like a shot. half-way across the bridge that here spans the meuse he nearly collided with the proprietor of the hôtel doré. the man's face was red with excitement. "quel dommage!" he exclaimed, in reply to the lad's unspoken question. "the government has ordered the army to mobilize. what inconsideration! jules, michel, georges, and étienne--all will have to go. i shall be left without a single garçon. and the busy season approaches also." "why is the army to be mobilized, then?" "ciel! i know not. we belgians do not require soldiers. we are men of peace. has not our neutrality been guaranteed by our neighbours? and, notwithstanding, the government must have men to vie with the french _piou-piou_, give them rifles, and put them in uniforms at the expense of the community. it is inconceivable!" the proprietor, unable to contain his feelings, rushed back to the hotel, while kenneth, still wishing to satisfy his curiosity by ocular demonstration, made his way to the edge of the semicircular crowd of excited townsfolk. the proclamation, dated the 31st day of july, was an order for partial mobilization, calling up the first division of the reserves. no reason was given, and the lack of it, rather than the fact that the order had to be obeyed, was the subject of general comment. from the nature of the conversation the lad gathered that military service was not regarded by the belgians in anything approaching a tolerant spirit. "nothing much; only a mobilization," announced everest in reply to his companion's enquiry. "let's make a move. we may see something of the belgian troops. it would be rather interesting to see how they take to playing at soldiering." "why playing?" asked rollo as he proceeded to secure his valise to the carrier. "what else would you expect from belgians?" rejoined kenneth. "even old gallipot--or whatever the hotel proprietor's name is--was grumbling about the uselessness of the business, and most of those johnnies over there are of the same opinion. no, rollo, take my word for it, the belgians are not a fighting race. let me see--didn't they skedaddle at waterloo and almost let our fellows down?" "they may have done," remarked rollo. "but that's nearly a century old. ready?" with half-closed throttles, and tyres sufficiently soft to absorb most of the shocks, the young tourists bumped over the _pavé_, swung round, and soon settled down to a modest fifteen miles an hour along the namur road. for the best part of the journey the meuse, with its limestone crags and dense foliage, was within a few yards on their right, while trees on either side of the road afforded a pleasant shade from the fierce rays of the sun. the dust, too, rose in dense clouds whenever, as frequently happened, a motor-car tore past, or a flock of frightened sheep scampered madly all across the road. at namur their wishes regarding the belgian troops were gratified. the narrow street swarmed with soldiers and civil guards. there were men with head-dresses resembling the busbies of the british guardsmen, leading teams of dogs harnessed to light quick-firing "berthier" guns; infantry who, in spite of the broiling heat, wore heavy greatcoats; cavalry whose mounts were powerful enough to evoke the admiration of the critical kenneth. "i wonder what all this fuss is about," he exclaimed. before rollo could furnish any remark a little belgian officer accosted them. "you gentlemen are english, without doubt?" "we are." "it then is well," continued the officer, speaking in english with considerable fluency. "you have not heard, eh? the news--the grave news?" "no, monsieur." "germany has declared war upon the russians." chapter ii a break-down "is that so?" asked kenneth. "then i hope to goodness the russians will give the germans a thundering good licking. but why are your troops mobilizing?" the belgian officer replied by producing a newspaper and pointing to a heavy-leaded column. "you understand our language?" he asked. the report, though a piece of journalistic conjecture, afterwards proved to be very near to the mark. it was to the effect that germany had declared war against russia and also france, and that her troops were already pouring over the respective frontiers. to take all necessary precautions the king of the belgians had ordered a mobilization, and had appealed to king george to assist him in preserving the integrity of his small kingdom. "you'll notice it says that it is reported," observed the cautious rollo. "by jove, if it is true, the kaiser will have a handful. but, monsieur, surely belgium will be out of it? her integrity is protected by treaties." the belgian officer shrugged his shoulders. "let us hope so," he remarked. "we belgians have little faith in the honour of a german. therefore, we arm. where do you propose to go?" "to liége, monsieur." "then do not go. it is not advisable. if you take my advice you return to england as soon as possible. perhaps, soon, you come back again with a brave english army." "whatever is the fellow aiming at?" asked kenneth, after the officer was out of ear-shot. "it's all so very mysterious about nothing." "do you call war between germany and france and russia nothing, old fellow?" "i wasn't referring to that," replied kenneth. "of course it is. the russians will simply walk over prussia while the germans are trying to batter the french frontier forts. no; what i meant is, why should we be balked in going to liége? we'll go, and risk it--though i don't believe there is any risk. if there is, so much the better for us." "perhaps that belgian officer knows more than he told us." "or else less. i'll tell you what, rollo. we'll see what's doing at liége; then, if there's time, we'll run back almost to the french frontier and see what the excitement is like there. let's make another start." the suggestion was quickly put into practice, but progress was tedious and slow. the highway between namur and liége was crowded with traffic. military wagons, both motor-driven and drawn by horses and mules, seemed an unending stream. the rattling of the huge motor-lorries prevented the chauffeurs from hearing any sounds beyond the pulsations of their engines. in vain the two english lads sounded their horns. it was invariably a case of throwing out the clutch and waiting for a favourable moment to dash past, often with a bare yard between the off-side wheel of the powerful lorries and the deep ditch by the side of the road. there were thousands of troops, too, with their supply-carts; swarms of peasants driving cattle into the fortresses; motor-cars, motor-cycles, and ordinary cycles galore, till rollo remarked, during one of the enforced halts, that it was ten times worse than barnet hill on fair night. at length, after taking two hours to traverse fifteen miles, the lads came in sight of the town of huy. here the traffic lessened slightly, and kenneth called for an increased speed. suddenly rollo saw his companion's cycle slip from under him. it was all he could do to avoid coming into collision with the prostrate mount. when he pulled up and dismounted, kenneth was regaining his feet. "hurt?" asked barrington laconically, yet with considerable anxiety. "not a bit," replied kenneth cheerfully. "only barked my knuckles. get up, you brute!" the last remark was addressed to the motor-cycle, which was lying on its side across a rounded stone embedded in the ground on the edge of the footpath. kenneth found, for the first time, that it required a fair amount of physical energy to restore a fallen motorcycle to its normal position. thrice he tried a running start, but without success. the motor refused to fire. "jack it up on its stand," suggested rollo. "inject a little petrol into the compression tap and have another shot." kenneth promptly acted upon this advice, but still without satisfactory result. by this time rollo had placed his cycle on its stand and was ready to give assistance. "there's no spark," he announced after testing the plug. "i hope it isn't the magneto." with the usual perversity of things in general and motor-cycles in particular, it was the magneto that was out of action. the round stone on which the cycle had fallen had given the delicate mechanism a nasty blow. "this job's beyond me," declared rollo. "we must see what can be done in the next town. thank goodness it isn't far. off with the belt and push her; i won't risk towing you with this traffic about." already the disabled motor-cycle was surrounded by a crowd of peasants and soldiers, all of whom offered advice; but, as the majority of the onlookers were walloons, their flemish tongue was not understood by the two english lads. at length kenneth managed to get into conversation with a french-speaking corporal, and from him learnt that there was an efficient motor-repairer in huy, whose place of business faced the market square. it was exhausting work pushing the two motor-bicycles along the undulating, rough cobbled road in the fierce glare of the august sun. the crowd followed. about a quarter of a mile farther along the road a chasseur passed. reining in his horse he addressed the corporal. "what, then, has happened, pierre?" the belgian non-com. shrugged his shoulders. "only two german tourists, gaston," he replied. "they have had an accident." "german!" exclaimed kenneth indignantly. "you are wrong. we are english." "can monsieur produce proof?" asked the corporal. fortunately both lads possessed _permits de circulation_--documents issued to foreign tourists on entering french territory, and which they had not given up at the _douane_ at givet. on each document was pasted a photograph of the bearer and particulars of his name, nationality, occupation, and place of abode. in less than a minute the indifferent demeanour of the crowd underwent a complete change. amid shouts of "vivent les anglais!" several of the belgians took possession of the two motor-cycles, and, in spite of frequent wobblings, pushed them right into the town. here another set-back greeted the tourists. the repairer gravely informed them that a new magneto was absolutely necessary, and since he had not one in stock he would be obliged to send to brussels for it. under the circumstances an enforced stay would have to be made at huy, so the lads booked a room at a modest but cheerful-looking hotel. the town and environs seemed delightfully picturesque, and, although kenneth chafed under the delay, both lads eventually admitted they might have been hung up in many a worse place than huy. the next day, sunday, they were awakened early by a clamour in the street, and found that newsvendors were doing a roaring trade. the papers were full of sensational reports, and although definite news was not forthcoming, it was quite evident that the war clouds were rapidly gathering. rollo, the cautious, suggested the abandonment of the liége trip and a hasty return home, but kenneth set his face against any such proposal. "look here," he said, "if there's any truth in this report, and england does chip in, we will do no good by returning home. the powers that be have decided that we are not yet of an age to take up a commission, although i flatter myself that we are both better men than tompkins, late of the upper sixth, who was gazetted to a line regiment a week before the holidays, you'll remember. if there is a dust-up we'll try our luck with the french. they don't object to fellows of sixteen, so long as they are keen. take the case of lord kitchener, for instance. he served as a cadet in the war of '70 and '71." "don't be in such a violent hurry, old man. stick to our original programme and go to liége, if you will. it may be necessary for us to look after your sister, you know." "i don't think so; i firmly believe that belgium will be left out of the business. this scare will be over in a few days. the pen is mightier than the sword, you know, so germany will respect her plighted word to preserve the neutrality of both holland and belgium." it was nearly noon on monday morning when the lads wended their way to the motor-repairer's. outside the burgomaster's house a huge crowd had gathered. the chief magistrate was making ready to read a document. it was a copy of the momentous ultimatum from the bully of europe to one of the smallest of her neighbours: a peremptory demand that the belgian government should allow the legions of the kaiser to pass through belgium in order to attack the least-defended frontier of france, and threatening to make war upon the little buffer state should she refuse. a dead silence greeted the burgomaster's announcement. the news, though not unexpected, was astounding. again he spoke: "fellow-townsmen! i can assure you that the spirit of independence lives amongst us. we will resist to the death this outrageous demand. nor are we without powerful friends. listen to the words of an appeal of our heroic sovereign to the king of england: 'remembering the numerous proofs of your majesty's friendship and that of your predecessors, and the friendly attitude of england in 1870, and the proof of friendship you have just given us again, i make a supreme appeal to the diplomatic intervention of your majesty's government to safeguard the integrity of belgium." "and what is the reply of the king of england?" shouted a voice. "if it has been received it has not up to the present been communicated to me," replied the chief magistrate pompously. "rest assured that i, your burgomaster, will not be tardy in keeping the worthy burgesses fully posted with the latest news from the capital. if any of you still have faith in german promises, let me inform you it is definitely established that the german troops have already invaded the independent grand duchy of luxemburg." the burgomaster withdrew, leaving the townsfolk to shout "down with germany!" "long live england!" and cheer madly for their young king, who was yet to display proof of his personal courage. "it's getting serious," admitted kenneth as the chums resumed their way. "i don't mind owning i was wrong in my opinion of german honesty. if they don't draw the line at luxemburg they evidently won't at belgium. rollo, my boy, it's a mortal cert that great britain will be scrapping with germany in less than a week." chapter iii major résimont "i vote we get off this main road with its wretched _pavé_," exclaimed rollo prior to resuming their ride on the following day. "there's a road shown on the map which ought to be a jolly sight better. at any rate we'll miss most of the heavy traffic." "right-o," assented kenneth; "anything so long as we can have a speed-burst. i'm tired of crawling along at ten miles an hour." the road, which turned out to be little better than a cart-track, led a considerable distance from the left bank of the meuse, and with the exception of an occasional farm wagon laden with hay, very little traffic was met with. at the end of an hour's steady riding, the lads found themselves at the junction of two forked roads, where, contrary to the usual custom, there was no signpost to indicate the direction. on either side was a steep bank. "now, which way?" asked rollo. "neither of the roads looks particularly inviting." "it's one of the sunken roads of belgium, i suppose," said kenneth. "we'll climb up this bank. perhaps we shall be able to see where we are. it will be awkward for our bikes if a motor-car comes tearing along." the incline was nearly fifteen feet in height and fairly steep. when the lads reached the summit they found, to their surprise, that they were on a slightly undulating grass field liberally guarded with barbed wire. about four hundred yards off was a rounded hillock. even as the two looked they saw a huge cylindrical turret, from which projected the muzzle of a large gun, rise from the ground. for a few seconds the giant weapon moved horizontally and vertically, as if seeking a target, then as swiftly as it had appeared it disappeared into the ground. "i say, we've stumbled across one of the frontier forts," exclaimed kenneth. "let's go a bit closer and have a look. i'd like to find out how they work." "thanks, i'm not having any," objected rollo. "there's too much barbed wire knocking about. besides, there are our bikes." "we needn't wriggle under the wire, this road on our right evidently leads to the fort. we'll get a bit closer; but hold on a minute, we'll see if that gun pops up again." they waited for at least five minutes, but without the expected result. as they turned to retrace their steps, they were confronted by a tall belgian soldier wearing the blue uniform of the artillery. "c'est défendu: marchez!" he ordered sternly. "all right, monsieur," replied kenneth. "we've lost our way. which is the liége road?" "you are foreigners," exclaimed the soldier, bringing his bayonet to the "ready". "yes, english." "you must come with me." "we have motor-bicycles." "no matter. they will be attended to. forward!" realizing the uselessness of attempting to argue the point the lads obeyed, the soldier following three paces in the rear with his rifle and bayonet at the slope. after covering a distance of about a hundred yards between the edge of the barbed-wire entanglements and the dip formed by the sunken road, the arrested lads found themselves in the presence of a corporal and a file of men. "you must be taken before the major. i am sorry, but these are my orders," declared the corporal civilly, after ascertaining that the two chums were english. "no doubt you will be permitted to go with but little delay." "will our motor-bicycles be all right?" asked rollo anxiously. "we left them a little way down the lane." "i will send a man to look after them," was the reply. "we must take you into fort loncine, and you must be blindfolded. these are my orders whenever we find strangers in the vicinity of the defences." "very well," replied kenneth with as good a grace as he could command, at the same time producing his handkerchief. guided by soldiers, the two blindfolded youths were led into the fort. kenneth kept count of the number of paces before crossing the drawbridge; they totalled four hundred and eighty-five, which, allowing thirty inches for his long stride, meant that the glacis, or level grassy ground surrounding the fort, was a little over four hundred yards in breadth. when the handkerchiefs were removed from their eyes the lads found themselves in a large vaulted room lighted by electricity. on three sides were several low-arched doorways, on the fourth a fairly broad gateway through which they had been brought. although it was impossible to see straight into the open air, a distant glimpse of diffused daylight showed that this entrance communicated either with the glacis or else an enclosed portion of the fort that was exposed to the rays of the sun. seated on benches or lolling against the walls were quite a hundred soldiers, yet the place was by no means crowded. beyond looking with evident curiosity at the two lads under arrest, they took no further interest in them. presently a sergeant approached and questioned the guards concerning their prisoners. "english? perhaps they are sent ... but, no; they are but youths. bring them along. i will inform major résimont." the sergeant knocked at one of the doors, and in reply to a muffled "entrez!" he passed through. the lads noticed that the door was of steel, and required considerable effort on the part of the non-commissioned officer to open it. "englishmen found in the vicinity of the fort, mon major," announced the sergeant, saluting and standing stiffly at attention. "let them enter. ah, my young friends, this, then, is the manner in which you come to liége?" the two chums could well express astonishment, for their questioner was none other than the officer who in namur had advised them to abandon their proposed visit to the birmingham of belgium. "well, what have you to say?" proceeded the major. "we lost our way and scrambled on to the bank to see where we were. we happened to catch sight of one of the guns, with disappearing mountings, and we were curious to see what happened," replied kenneth. "your curiosity might lead you into trouble," said the belgian officer gravely. "how am i to know that you are not german spies?" kenneth bridled indignantly. "we give you our word that we are not." "your word will hardly do, monsieur, at a time like this. can you produce proofs? have you anyone in the district who can identify you?" the lads produced their permits. "this will hardly do," continued the major as he scanned kenneth's document. "these are only too easy to obtain. ha! your name is barrington?" he asked, turning to the owner of that patronymic. "yes, sir," replied rollo. "my father is a retired colonel in the british army." "his christian name?" rollo told him. "then i know your father; not intimately, perhaps, yet i am acquainted with him. i met him at your great manoeuvres at aldershot, to which i was sent as attaché in 1904. but, tell me, why are you both so anxious to go to liége?" "my sister is at a boarding-school near visé," replied kenneth. "i want to see her, as she is not returning home for the holidays." "she is at the institution of madame de la barre?" "yes, sir; how did you know that?" asked kenneth eagerly. "i have the pleasure of mademoiselle everest's acquaintance," replied the major with a deep bow. "in fact, she is a great friend of my daughter, yvonne. you are free to depart, messieurs, but perhaps you will do me a favour. convey my compliments to madame de la barre, and say that it is advisable that she should remove her school from visé as soon as possible. should you find it inconvenient to take your sister to england, please inform her that she may find a temporary home with yvonne at my house in the rue de la tribune in brussels." "that we will gladly do, and let you know the result." major résimont smiled. "my duty prevents me from being my own messenger," he said. "i was on the point of sending one of my men with a letter, but you will, according to your english proverb, kill two birds with one stone. to-night, if you wish to see me, i hope to be at the café royal, in the rue breidel at liége, from eight till eleven. will you, before you depart, honour me by taking a glass of wine?" "what do you think of the situation, sir?" asked rollo. major résimont shook his head. "serious," he said solemnly. "at any moment these pigs of prussians may cross the frontier. only one thing will hold them back: the fear of your english fleet. you are fortunate, you english, in having the sea around your country, yet i think you do not give sufficient thought towards the significance of the fact." "but great britain has not declared war on germany." "no, not yet, but perhaps soon. your country would do incalculable service to france and belgium simply by holding the sea; yet in addition she has generously pledged herself to send almost the whole of her army to belgium if the germans attack us. then the rest will be a question of time. we in liége will do our utmost to keep the invaders at bay until your brave army arrives. then, with the french, to say nothing of the russians on the east, germany will be assailed and conquered, and the vile spectre of teutonic militarism will be for ever laid low." the belgian major spoke with conviction. his earnestness in the hope of british aid was intense. "and we are ready," continued the major. "already the bridges across the meuse are mined; our armoured forts will defy the heaviest of the german artillery. we will keep the germans at bay for a month if need be. meanwhile you two messieurs journey through belgium as calmly as if you were on an english country road. you english are brave, but you are enigmas. but take this and show it if you are challenged," and he wrote out a pass on an official form. the major accompanied his involuntary guests as far as the edge of the glacis. this time they were not blindfolded; yet there was very little to be seen, except to the practised eye of a trained man. there were mountings for quick-firing guns, and just discernible above the turf the rounded tops of the steel cupolas. beyond that the fort looked nothing more than an earthworked enclosure. somewhat to the lads' astonishment they found their motor-cycles placed on a trolley. the belgian soldiers, not understanding the action of the exhaust lever, had been unable to wheel the heavy mounts; and since their orders had to be obeyed, they had first resorted to the toilsome task of carrying the mounts. this, owing to the heat of the day and the thickness of their clothing, was eventually abandoned, and a trolley procured. "you have a clear road," announced major résimont. "when you re-enter the lane, keep to the left; that will bring you speedily upon the highway. au revoir, messieurs!" somewhat to the wonderment of the belgian soldiers, who could not understand how the unwieldy machines could be moved by manual power, the lads took a running start. both engines fired easily, and soon the tourists were speeding along through the outskirts of the city of liége. chapter iv enlisted "madame de la barre presents her compliments, but regrets that the regulations of her establishment do not permit her pupils to receive visits except during certain hours," announced a stern-faced flemish woman in broken french. kenneth glanced at his companion, "what's to be done now?" he asked. "give her major résimont's message. say it's very urgent," advised rollo. the lads, curbing their impatience, waited for another ten minutes outside the lofty blank wall surrounding the boarding-school. the air was sultry, and the glare from the whitewashed walls was almost blinding. the _pavé_ seemed to throw out a stifling heat. the village street was practically deserted, but in the neighbouring fields a row of peasant women were bending over their monotonous task of pulling vegetables. farther away some cows were lying down under the scant shade afforded by a few gaunt trees. otherwise the landscape was devoid of life. presently a woman passed, leading a little girl by the hand. she was a buxom, comely peasant, the child bright-faced and apparently well-cared-for. they were laughing and chattering. then a man on a dog-drawn cart came down the street. the animals, their tongues protruding and their sides heaving with the heat, were moving at a leisurely pace. the man made no attempt to hurry them. he was smiling contentedly, and called out a cheery greeting in flemish to the patient audience before the gate of madame de la barre. a little way down the street he halted his team and entered a cottage. he was lame, hence he had not been called up on mobilization. presently the maid-servant reappeared. "madame thanks monsieur the major, but at present sees no reason for taking his advice. should war be declared she will take necessary steps to safeguard her pupils. if mademoiselle résimont is to be sent to her home at brussels, no doubt monsieur the major will communicate in writing with madame. if monsieur everest desires to see his sister he can do so in the presence of madame at eleven o'clock to-morrow." having delivered this ultimatum, the maid shut the door and shot the massive bolts. "done this time!" ejaculated kenneth. "let's get back to liége. there'll be plenty to see." the lads set off at a rapid pace in spite of the heat. they were on foot, having placed their motor-cycles in the village of argenteau. by the time they regained argenteau a change had come over the little hamlet. a detachment of engineers was in possession. the men, discarding their heavy greatcoats, were busily engaged in throwing up earthworks, while almost within arm's-length their rifles were piled, each weapon with its bayonet fixed. "halte-là!" the tip of a bayonet presented within a couple of inches of rollo's chest brought both lads to a sudden stop. "qui v'là?" the production of the pass with which major résimont had provided them was sufficient, and without further hindrance the two friends gained the inn. as they passed under the archway they found that their beloved motor-cycles had vanished. "pardon, messieurs!" exclaimed the landlord on catching sight of the two lads. "it was not my fault, i assure you. it is the order of the government. they have taken away all the horses, all the carts----" "and our motor-cycles?" "hélas, messieurs, it is a fact. nevertheless, the government will pay----" "where are they taken to?" asked kenneth. "they were placed in a transport wagon, monsieur. it left in the direction of liége not fifteen minutes ago." "let's hurry and catch it up," suggested rollo. "it's daylight robbery. i believe that rascally innkeeper has played a trick on us." alternately running and walking, the english lads kept up a rapid pace along the road that followed the right bank of the meuse between argenteau and liége. mile after mile they went, without a sign of a transport wagon. troops there were in plenty, all carrying entrenching tools in addition to arms. yet, in spite of these warlike movements, the women were toiling unconcernedly in the fields, either indifferent to the danger that threatened them, or else basking in the confidence of the ability of the belgian troops and their allies to thrust back the approaching tide of invasion. at the village of wandre rollo gave vent to a shout of delight. standing outside an inn was an army wagon, and under its tilt, in company with a medley of other articles, were their motor-cycles. "now, what's to be done?" asked rollo. "i vote we take them and make off as hard as we can," suggested kenneth. "the soldiers in charge are evidently after more official loot." "won't do," replied the cautious rollo. "ten to one we would hopelessly damage the bikes getting them off the wagon. the best we can do is to tackle the fellow in charge." "the fellow in charge" turned out to be a phlegmatic walloon corporal. when appealed to he replied that he was acting under the orders of his lieutenant, and that he must account for all the articles on his list upon his return to liége. the production of major résimont's pass did not save the situation, although the belgian's demeanour thawed considerably. "nevertheless, if messieurs are english, perhaps they would like to ride on the wagon. at liége, no doubt, all will be set right," he added. it was, fortunately, the last of that particular corporal's work, and he was at liberty to return without delay. a sapper drove, the corporal sitting beside him on the box seat. on the tail-board, with their backs against their precious motor-cycles, sat the two lads, another sapper keeping them company. as the cart jolted through the village of jupille there came a dull rumbling, like that of distant thunder. "guns!" exclaimed rollo. "thunder, i think," declared his chum. the belgian soldier, when questioned, merely remarked in matter-of-fact tones: "we are blowing up the bridges, monsieur." the work of demolition had already begun. the belgian troops, with commendable forethought, had destroyed four bridges across the meuse in order to delay the momentarily expected german advance. yet, on either side of the sluggish river, peasants were unconcernedly toiling in the fields. as the wagon passed the loftily-situated and obsolete fort of la chatreuse a round of cheering could be heard from the city of liége. presently the strains of "la brabançonne"--the belgian national anthem--could be distinguished above the din. the sapper began to grow excited. "all is well, messieurs," he exclaimed. "we are now ready for these prussians. our third division has arrived." presently the head of the column of blue-greatcoated troops swung blithely along the road to take up positions in the newly-constructed trenches between fort de barchon and fort de fléron. the men marched well, although covered with dust from head to foot; for during the previous forty-eight hours they had, by forced marches, covered more than eighty miles from diest to their allotted positions at liége. yet, for some unaccountable reason, these troops went into what was soon to be the firing-line in blue tunics with white facings, which would offer a conspicuous target to their foes. it was late in the afternoon when the cart drew up in a large open space by the side of the church of st. jacques. the square was crowded with all kinds of military transport and commissariat wagons. officers were shouting orders, men were rushing hither and thither, motors were popping, horses neighing. the corporal in charge of the wagon descended and stood rigidly at attention. for quite a quarter of an hour he remained in this attitude, without any of the officers approaching to give him further directions. the crowd of wagons became more congested, till kenneth and rollo realized that, should they regain possession of their mounts, there would be great difficulty in wheeling them out of the press. suddenly kenneth gripped his friend's shoulder and pointed in the direction of a group of officers. "there's major résimont!" he exclaimed. "he'll get us out of the fix." "ah! you have got yourselves in a difficulty again, that i can see," declared the genial major. "what, then, is the trouble?" briefly kenneth described the commandeering of their motor-cycles. "i am indeed most busy," said major résimont, and the perspiration on his face did not belie this statement. "nevertheless, come with me, and we will find the quartermaster of the commissariat." he led the lads at a rapid pace through several crowded thoroughfares. at one point the press was so great as to impede their progress. the liégeois were shouting and cheering, cries of "vive la belgique!" and "vive l'angleterre!" predominating. outside a large building a union jack and the belgian tricolour had been hoisted side by side. a telegraphic communication had just been received that great britain had declared war on germany. "ah! i thought it," chuckled the major. "now the prussians will get the right-about. my friends, the germans are also now your enemies," and he shook kenneth and rollo by the hand. "what will you do? return to england and join the army?" "we are not old enough for commissions, sir," replied kenneth; then on the spur of the moment he added: "couldn't we be attached to the belgian army as dispatch-riders?" rollo almost gasped at his chum's impetuosity, but loyalty to his chum and a desire to do something against the oppressor of europe checked his inclination to counsel caution. "we will see," said the major gravely. "it is good to see such a spirit amongst englishmen to come to the aid of our brave belgians. you are resolute?" "rather!" declared kenneth stoutly; and rollo likewise signified his willingness. the quartermaster having been found at his office, major résimont soon obtained the requisite order for the release of the englishmen's motor-cycles. "now, this way!" he exclaimed. five minutes' brisk walk brought them to the door of a large building at which were stationed two soldiers in the uniform of the grenadiers. these stood stiffly at attention as the major entered, drawing themselves up with an alertness that was almost entirely lacking in most of the men of the line regiments. giving his name to a staff officer, the major had to wait in an ante-room, with at least a dozen other officers, mostly of brevet rank. at length his turn came, for business was being carried out with dispatch. "monsieur le major résimont, mon général," announced a junior officer, as he opened the door and motioned for the belgian major and his two companions to enter. seated at a table was a man in the undress uniform of the belgian staff. he was sparely built, although from his attitude it was impossible to judge his height. his features were sallow, one might almost say cadaverous, with a bright tinge of red upon his prominent cheek-bones. heavily-bushed eyebrows overhung a pair of deep-set eyes that seemed hawk-like in their intensity. his closely-cropped hair was iron-grey. a slightly drooping moustache hid a resolute mouth. the two english lads were in the presence of a man whose name, hitherto practically unknown outside his own country, was soon to be on the lips of everyone who was likely to hear of the gallant stand of liége--general albert leman. a quick vertical motion of the general's right hand--he was a man of few words--was the signal for major résimont to make known his business. "i have here two englishmen, mon général," began the major. "they are desirous of entering our army as motor-cyclist dispatch-riders." without a moment's delay the general asked: "can they read a map?" kenneth and rollo both replied that they could. "good!" exclaimed general leman; then, turning to his secretary, he added: "make out an order for these gentlemen to be attached to the 9th regiment of the line--your company, major?" "if you please, sir." "here, then, is the order," continued the general after a brief instant, during which the secretary had been writing as hard as he possibly could. "they can be sworn in as soon as an opportunity occurs. i wish you good day." that was all. the whole business was over in less than five minutes. not a word of thanks or encouragement to the two british volunteers. a chill had descended upon their ardour. "the general--he is magnificent," said their companion as they gained the street. "down to the humblest private we swear by him. one has to earn praise from the general before it is bestowed: it is our general's way. he is a man of few words, but his heart is in the right place. now go and demand your motor-cycles and proceed to fort de barchon. i will meet you there and see you are attested." with that the major hurried off, and the two lads hastened to take possession of their own property. "fancy great britain being at war with germany at last!" exclaimed kenneth. "we can hardly realize it, although most people have been talking about it for years. perhaps even now our fleet is giving the germans a good hiding. the rotten part about our job is that we may not be able to get news of how things are going on at home." therein kenneth was right. the news they received was mostly rumour. in fact, the statement they had just heard, that great britain had declared war, was premature. an ultimatum had been sent to berlin stating that, unless belgian neutrality were respected, hostilities would commence at midnight. the liégeois had anticipated the hour, and so had the germans, for already their mine-layers were at work in the north sea. an hour later, just as the sun was sinking behind the smoke-enshrouded city of liége, kenneth everest and rollo barrington were enlisted as volunteer dispatch-riders in the 9th regiment of the line of the belgian army. chapter v a baptism of fire at eight o'clock on the following morning the motorcyclist section--nine in number--was paraded in front of the orderly-room of fort de barchon. already the bulk of the regiments had marched out to take up a position in the trenches between the fortifications and the right bank of the meuse. the two english lads had been served out with a dark-blue uniform, with heavy boots and brown gaiters, and had been armed with a belgian service revolver--a .45-bore, made by the famous firm of cockerill of seraing. already they had been instructed in its use, and had--thanks to their cadet training--met with the approval of their musketry instructor. their motor-cycles had also been subjected to a critical inspection. the officer--who in civil life had been in the motor industry at liége--had to report, in spite of slight professional jealousy, that the english motor-cycles were fit for service, and almost equal to those owned by the other members of the dispatch-riding section. one by one the men were called into the orderly-room, where they received instructions and dispatches, till only kenneth and rollo remained. "private ever-r-rest and private bar-r-rington," shouted the orderly-room sergeant, sounding his r's like the roll of a drum. within they found major résimont, and, as befitting their relative rank, the lads saluted and stood at attention. "deliver this to captain leboeuf at visé," ordered the major. "in view of the german advance, he is to cross the river and impede the enemy as much as possible, retiring upon fort de pontisse if in danger of being outflanked." then dropping the official voice, he added in english, "since madame de la barre would pay no heed to my request, it is necessary for strategic reasons to occupy her house. you may now have an opportunity of seeing your sister, monsieur everest. there are, i believe, only our pupils there during the holidays. captain leboeuf will arrange for them to be sent into maastricht by train, or by a carriage if railway communication is interrupted. they can then proceed to brussels in the ordinary way. you might give this to mademoiselle yvonne for incidental expenses for herself and her friend, your sister," and the major handed kenneth a packet containing a sheaf of notes. "be cautious," he added. "the germans have already advanced upon lembourg." the lads saluted and withdrew. a minute later they were dashing over the drawbridge, bound on their first duty as dispatch-riders in the belgian army, though with a semi-official motive. away on their right came the rapid booming of light artillery fire. beyond the woods of verviers a thick cloud of black smoke rose sullenly in the heavy air. their route lay along a fairly level road bounded on each side by tall trees. in the centre was a strip of _pavé_, but between it and the ditch on either hand was a dusty path which afforded good going. the cyclists were soon touching thirty miles an hour, the rapid beats of their engines drowning the noise of the distant cannonade. once they had to slow down in order to allow a cart to draw up on one side. the floor of the cart was covered with straw, and on the straw lay some strange objects. the lads did not realize what these burdens were. they were new to the game of war, but not for long. presently they noticed a group of soldiers approaching. thrice the lads sounded their horns without effect. again they had to slow down. "good heavens! look!" ejaculated kenneth. the men were limping painfully. one had his arm thrown around a comrade's neck, and his head falling limply upon the other's shoulder. another, his head bound by a blood-stained scarf, was using the butt of his rifle as a crutch. "there's been an action already," said rollo. "yes, and on the visé road," added his companion. "let's push on. i hope we are not too late." during the slowing-down process the thunder of the guns became horribly distinct. there was terrific firing in the direction of argenteau. more, there were heavy belgian losses, for the men they had just passed were but the van of a ghastly procession of wounded. at argenteau a body of reserves was in possession of the village. barricades had been hastily constructed, walls of buildings loopholed, and barbed-wire entanglements placed across the road. "halte-là!" rollo came to a standstill with the point of a belgian bayonet within a couple of inches of his chest. kenneth, who was twenty yards in the rear, almost as promptly alighted. "qui v'là?" demanded the sentry. "dispatches for captain leboeuf," replied kenneth. the man recovered his arms. "may you have the good fortune to find him!" said he. "our troops have been compelled to fall back in the face of superior numbers. turn to the right, then take the first road to the left. it will bring you back to the visé road." following the sentry's direction the lads found that the route was still open, although soldiers and peasants were standing ready to barricade that exit. a couple of miles farther on the motor-cyclists reached the firing-line--a comparatively weak detachment of infantry holding a hastily-constructed trench. overhead the shrapnel was flying, the iron hail for the most part bursting harmlessly in the rear. on the left the great guns of fort de pontisse were shelling the dense masses of german troops as they vainly sought to cross the meuse. a shell, happily without exploding, struck the pave five yards from the spot where kenneth dismounted, burying itself in a hole at least two feet in depth. "into the ditch with the bikes," shouted kenneth; and having assisted rollo to place his steed in a place of comparative safety, he returned, and, helped by his companion, managed to shelter his own cycle. "what's to be done now?" asked rollo. "see if the captain is with these men. we must hasten: it will be a jolly sight safer in the trench." abandoning their motor-cycles, the two lads made their way along the ditch, which fortunately ran with considerable obliquity to the direction of the fire of the german artillery. at length they reached the trench where the belgian infantry, taking admirable cover, were replying steadily to the hail of ill-directed rifle bullets. the only unwounded officer was a slim young lieutenant--a mere boy. "we have dispatches for captain leboeuf, sir," announced kenneth. "he was in charge of an outpost at visé." "visé is all aflame," replied the officer. "no doubt the captain has crossed the meuse. but we are about to retire, so look to yourselves. the enemy is threatening our right flank, otherwise we might hold this trench for another twenty-four hours." "any orders, sir, before we return to fort de barchon?" "yes; ride as quickly as you can to saint andré. the rest of our company is there. tell the officer in command that i am retiring, and that unless he falls back he is in danger of being cut off. you understand? good, now----" the lieutenant's instructions ended in a faint shriek. his hands flew to his chest, and he pitched forward on his face. a grizzled colour-sergeant instantly took command. "retire by sections!" he shouted. "steady, men, no hurry. keep them back as long as you can." the caution was in vain. while the untried troops were lining the trench and replying to the german fire, all went well; but at the order to retire, men broke and ran for their lives. heedless of the cover afforded by the ditch, they swarmed along the road in the direction of argenteau, shrapnel and bullet accounting for half their numbers. only the sergeant, two corporals, and the british dispatch-riders remained. the germans, advancing in close formation, were now eight hundred yards off. without a word the belgian sergeant crawled along the trench, picking up the rifles and caps of the slain and placing them at intervals along the top of the mound; while the rest, including kenneth and rollo, who had taken possession of a couple of abandoned rifles, maintained a rapid magazine fire at the approaching troops. "each for himself, mes enfants," said the veteran at length. "one at a time and trust to luck." with that a corporal cast aside his greatcoat and heavy knapsack. he was about to make a plunge through the zone of hissing bullets when kenneth stopped him. "there's a ditch farther along," he announced. "we came that way." the man hesitated, then, communicated the news to his sergeant. "come then, mes braves," exclaimed the veteran. one by one, crawling along the ditch the five made their way, till they gained the comparative shelter afforded by the walls of a ruined cottage. proof against bullets, the house had been practically demolished by shell-fire. "we must go back and get our bikes," declared kenneth. "it's fairly safe. those fellows are apparently directing their fire against those caps and rifles showing above the trench." they found their steeds uninjured. in record time they were in the saddle and tearing along the avenue, which here and there was dotted with dead belgians. the wounded had evidently been carried off by their comrades. as they passed the ruined cottage where they had parted from the three soldiers the latter were no longer to be seen, but a hoarse cry of "a moi, camarades!" caused rollo to turn. he alone caught the appeal, for kenneth had secured a slight start and the noise of his engine had drowned the shout for aid. "hold on!" shouted rollo; but kenneth, unaware of the call, was out of ear-shot, and doing a good thirty or forty miles an hour. leaving his engine still running, rollo dismounted and made his way towards the building. shots were whistling overhead. he crouched as he hastened, for he had not yet acquired the contempt for the screech of a bullet that the old soldier has, knowing that with the whizzing of the missile that particular danger has passed. lying against the bullet-spattered wall was the old sergeant. a fragment of shrapnel, rebounding from the masonry, had fractured his left ankle. there was no time for first-aid. the germans were now within three hundred yards of the abandoned trench. throwing his arms round the sergeant's body, rollo lifted him from the ground, then kneeling, he managed to transfer him across his back. fortunately the wounded man was not very heavy, and the lad, staggering under his burden, carried him to the place where he had left his motor-cycle. just then came the rapid pop-pop of another motor-bike. kenneth, having discovered that his chum was no longer in his company, had returned. "give me a push off, old man," panted rollo, as he set his burden across the carrier and stood astride his steed. in went the clutch; kenneth, running by the side of the cycle for a few yards, steadied the wounded sergeant, who was clinging desperately to the young dispatch-rider. "all right, let go!" shouted rollo. the bike wobbled dangerously under the unusual burden. the sergeant's grip wellnigh destroyed the lad's power of command on the steering. the _zipp_ of a bullet did much to add to the difficulty, and momentarily rollo thought that nothing could save him from toppling into the ditch. "let go my arms and catch hold of my waist," he shouted desperately. the sergeant fortunately understood and obeyed; the motor-cycle began to recover its balance, and as rollo opened the throttle and increased speed it settled down to its normal condition. on either side the trees seemed to slip past like the spokes of a wheel; the pace was terrific, and although the wounded man must have been suffering agonies, not a groan came from his lips. presently kenneth rode up alongside, for they were out of range and the road was no longer encumbered with the fallen. five minutes later the two lads dismounted at the barricade of argenteau. here ready arms relieved rollo of his burden; soldiers assisted in lifting the cycles over the barrier. as they did so one of them pointed to one of the tool-bag panniers on rollo's cycle. it was pierced by a bullet. "where are you going to?" demanded a major. "to saint andré, to warn a half-company of the 9th regiment to retire, sir." "it is unnecessary. the men have already rejoined. return to fort de barchon and say that if need be we can still hold the enemy in check, but that we are losing heavily." soon they were back again at argenteau, with instructions for the remains of the badly-mauled regiment to fall back upon the lines of defence prepared between the two forts in the north-eastern side of the circle surrounding liége. the invaders had been delayed sufficiently to allow general leman to complete his dispositions. they were yet to learn that even the much-vaunted german infantry could not afford to despise the gallant belgians. "it's a jolly sight better than rugby, anyway," declared kenneth, as at the end of their first day on active service they returned to their quarters at fort de barchon. but rollo did not reply. he was thinking of the bullet hole in the pannier of his cycle. it had been a narrow squeak. chapter vi a vain assault "i say, how about your sister, old man?" asked rollo. "she's all right," replied kenneth optimistically. "these germans don't make war on women and girls. besides, madame de la barre doubtless dropped a little of her standoffishness directly she heard the sound of firing. i'm pretty sure they are now either safe in dutch territory or else on their way to brussels." "if i had a sister i would be a jolly sight more anxious about her than you are," persisted rollo. "now, how can i help it? besides, you don't know thelma. she wouldn't, under the circumstances, wait for madame to give her permission to clear out, and, since yvonne is her special friend, she'll look after the major's daughter as well. i'm sorry we haven't come across major résimont since our return." "he must feel a bit anxious," remarked rollo. "about the money he entrusted us with?" laughed kenneth. "well, i admit that it was a bit of a risk, for we might have been bowled over by one of those german shells. ah! there's another!" the two dispatch-riders were under cover at fort de barchon, enjoying a hasty meal after their return from their fruitless errand. it was late in the day, and many hours had elapsed since they had had anything to eat. it was a kind of preliminary to the period of short rations through which they were to pass. the german artillery was furtively shelling the liége forts as a prelude to the general bombardment that was to take place as soon as the shades of night began to fall. general von emmich had brought up a force of 88,000 men against the 23,000 belgian troops manning the liége defences; but, owing to the difficulty of transporting his heavy guns, the german commander decided to open a furious cannonade with his light field artillery, and to follow up with an assault by means of dense masses of troops. soon the cannonade became general, the heaviest of the hostile fire being directed upon forts d'évegnée and de fléron, while fort de barchon came in for a hot bombardment. it was by no means a one-sided encounter. the belgian infantry, lying snugly sheltered either in the trenches or in the bomb-proof galleries of the forts, were for the time being inactive. the belgian gunners, however, worked their guns in the armoured cupolas with skill, bravery, and precision, and at the end of two hours' bombardment the forts were practically intact. kenneth and rollo, in the galleries of fort de barchon, could feel the concussion of the revolving guns and the detonations of the exploding german shells, although they were, like the rest of the infantry, in ignorance of what was taking place. the inaction was far more nerve-racking than actual exposure with the chance of getting in a shot. suddenly above the roar of the artillery came a bugle-call, followed by excited shouts of "aux armes!" instantly there was a wild rush to man the parapets on the inner face of the glacis. "come along, old man!" exclaimed kenneth. "we may as well have a look in." snatching up a rifle and making sure that the magazine was charged, he dashed out of the gallery, rollo following hard on his heels. a weird sight met their eyes. the blackness of the night was pierced by the dazzling rays of powerful searchlights and punctuated by the rapid flashes from the heavy ordnance. the thunder of the guns was ear-splitting, the crash of the exploding projectiles appalling, yet the attention of the two lads was directed towards the scene that lay before them. all along the parapet, protected by sandbags, were the belgian infantry, ready, with their rifles sighted to 800 yards, to open fire at the word of command. beyond the turf of the glacis, where almost every blade of grass stood up under the sweeping rays of the searchlights as if made of gleaming silver, were dense masses of grey-coated, spike-helmeted germans. on they came as steadily as if on parade, while between the rapid crashes of the artillery could be distinguished the harsh voices of the men as they sang "deutschland über alles" and the "wacht am rhein". the only relief to those grey-clad battalions was the glitter of the forest of bayonets. if numbers could annihilate, the fate of the comparative handful of belgians was sealed; but von emmich had, like many another man, underrated the courage of the plucky little belgians. the germans were now within the danger-zone of shell-fire. shrapnel tore ghastly lanes through their serried ranks, but other men were instantly forthcoming to fill up the gaps. on and on they came till they reached the outer edge of the glacis. here the huge fortress-guns in the armoured cupolas could not be sufficiently depressed to do them harm. the crackle of the belgian musketry added to the din. the men, firing steadily, swept away hundreds of their teutonic foes, but the ant-like swarm of ferocious humanity still swept onwards. kenneth and rollo were firing away as hard as they could thrust home the bolts of the rifles and press trigger. the hostile gun-fire had now ceased, lest german should fall by german shell. the infantry, firing with the butts of their rifles at the hip, let loose a terrific volley. the air was torn by the _zipp_ of the bullets, but for the most part the hail of missiles either flew high or harmlessly expended itself in the soft earth. now, in spite of the withering fire, the foremost of the german stormers were almost up to the parapet of the outer defences. victory seemed within their grasp. their shouts redoubled. drunk with the apparent success of their suicidal tactics, they rushed to overwhelm the slender line of belgian riflemen. through the rapidly-drifting clouds of smoke--for there was a strong wind blowing athwart the line of attack--the two british lads could clearly see the features of the exultant foes, as they recklessly plunged straight into the dazzling rays of the searchlight. mechanically kenneth began to wonder what would happen next, for it seemed imminent that bayonet would cross bayonet, and that the handful of belgian infantry would be cut off to the last man. then, even as he faced the enemy, the dense masses of germans seemed to melt away. they fell, not in sixes and sevens, but in scores and hundreds, till a barricade of dead prevented the massacre of the living. the belgians had machine-guns in readiness to take up the work that the heavier weapons had been obliged to suspend. the commandant of the 9th regiment of the line saw his chance. the rattle of the berthier machine-guns ceased as if by magic, and the shout was heard "a la baïonnette!" instantly the active belgians swarmed over the glacis and threw themselves upon the demoralized foe. the repulse of the germans became a rout. carried away by the enthusiasm of the charge, the british dispatch-riders tore along with their belgian comrades, kenneth with rifle and bayonet, while rollo was brandishing his mauser and using the butt-end like an exaggerated hockey-stick. just in front of them was a little belgian officer who, on the point of cutting down a burly german major, had arrested the fatal stroke upon the latter crying out for quarter. the german, who had been beaten to the ground, tendered his sword, and the belgian, casting it aside, rushed on to continue the counter-charge. before he had taken two strides he fell, hit in the ankle, and kenneth, who was following, promptly tripped across his body. the sight of his chum pitching on his face caused rollo's heart to jump into his mouth. he stopped, and to his great relief kenneth regained his feet. the belgian also attempted to rise, but could only raise himself to the extent of his outstretched arms. rollo was on the point of going to assist his chum, who was directing his attention to the wounded belgian officer, when he saw the german major stealthily produce his revolver and take aim at the man who had spared his life. perhaps it was well for the ungrateful major that rollo was a keen footballer. forgetting that he held a clubbed rifle in his hand the lad took a flying kick; his boot caught the german major on the wrist, and the revolver, exploding harmlessly, went spinning a dozen paces away. standing over the recreant officer rollo swung the butt of his rifle. the german howled for mercy. "hold hard, old man!" shouted kenneth, grasping his chum by the shoulder. he could scarcely credit his senses, seeing the usually deliberate and self-possessed rollo about to kill a defenceless german officer. "that brute was about to shoot down a fellow who had given him quarter," hissed rollo: "that captain over there, the one sitting up with a wounded leg." "we'll collar the cad in any case," declared kenneth, for the belgian troops were now being recalled. the attack had been repulsed, but the defenders were too wary to risk being caught out in the open. drawing his revolver rollo ordered the german to rise. the major apparently did not understand french, for he only cried the more. "get up instantly," exclaimed rollo in english. the german looked at his captor in surprise. his appeals for mercy ceased. he stood up. "i surrender," he said in the same language. with one of the british lads on either side the prisoner was urged onwards at a rapid pace, surrounded by swarms of exultant belgians, many of whom were limping or nursing their wounded arms. others were supporting or carrying those of their comrades who were more seriously hurt, yet all were uplifted by their enthusiasm at the thought of having vanquished von emmich's hordes. upon gaining the shelter of fort de barchon the british lads handed their prisoner over to the charge of a corporal and a file of men. it was well for the german that his captors refrained from giving the belgian soldiers an account of the circumstances under which he had been made prisoner. the german major seemed dazed. he could not understand how he had been captured by englishmen; for it had been given out to the troops of von emmich's division that great britain had decided to remain neutral. her attitude had been gained by a promise on the part of the german government that only the french and belgian colonies should be annexed, and that no permanent occupation of these two countries was contemplated. and now he had been informed that great britain and her vast empire beyond the seas had fallen into line to aid right against might. the news troubled him beyond measure--far more than the probability of what the result of his treacherous act would be; for he was a teuton imbued with the belief that all is fair in war, and that treaties and conventions are alike mere matters of form. "ah! you have been in the fight," exclaimed major résimont. "that should not be. dispatch-riders are required for other things." kenneth and rollo saluted. "couldn't help it," explained kenneth. "when the men charged we simply had to go. it was splendid." "you think so? so do we," said the major proudly. "we have taught the bosches a lesson; we have shown them that belgians can fight. we must hold them in front of the liége forts for a few days, and then the french and the english armies will be here. a matter of three days, perhaps, and then, _pouf!_ they blow the kaiser and his armies upon the bayonets of the russians. it is good to think that the english are so close." chapter vii disabling a taube "here is the money and the letter you entrusted us with, sir," said kenneth. "we couldn't get within five miles of visé." "the place is burned to the ground, i hear," announced major résimont. "those prussians are like devils, they spare neither man, woman, nor child. liége is filled with terrible stories brought by the peasants who escaped. i could, alas! gather no definite tidings of my daughter or of her friend your sister, monsieur everest. one thing is certain. they left before the german shells began to fall in visé, but whither, i know not. let us hope they went to maastricht." it was now early morning. the bombardment, which had ceased during the futile assault, was now being renewed, although the fire lacked the fierceness that characterized the beginning of the siege of liége. the belgian reply, too, had almost ceased, for so rapidly had the big guns been served that they had become overheated. moreover--a further proof of german methods--the ordnance supplied by krupp's to the belgian government before the war was obviously inferior in workmanship and material, and in consequence had rapidly deteriorated. the two british dispatch-riders had run across major résimont in one of the vaulted galleries. he looked tired and worried: tired owing to the fact that he had been for seventeen hours on duty in the trenches or in the fort; worried by reason of anxiety for his daughter. yet he was willing and anxious to face the germans at any time they should take it into their heads to attempt another assault. "if i were you i would take the chance to get a few hours' sleep," he advised as he bade the lads au revoir. "remember what i said the next time there is an attack: a dispatch-rider's duty is not in the firing-line. his work lies in another sphere, equally hazardous and equally important." "jolly good advice about getting some sleep, at all events," remarked kenneth, after the major had gone. "i vote we turn in. i had no idea i was so horribly sleepy until just now." "guns or no guns, i think i can do my share of sleep," agreed rollo. "let us put the scheme into practice." just then the heavy armoured door of the gallery was thrown open, and an authoritative voice shouted: "dispatch-riders! are there any dispatch-riders here?" "here, sir," replied the lads promptly. "ah! the english motor-cyclists," exclaimed the belgian--a staff officer. "do you know the headquarters offices in the palace of justice in liége?" "yes, sir," was again the reply. "good! take this paper--you!" (pointing to kenneth)--"and deliver it into the hands of commandant fleurus at all costs, and await his commands. your comrade will accompany you, so that should you meet with any mishap he is to take the paper from you and proceed. you understand? good! now, away!" "a good spin will be almost as refreshing as a few hours' sleep, rollo," said kenneth, as the two chums made their way to the place where their motor-cycles were stored, protected by three feet of concrete and six feet of earth from hostile shells. "with plenty of excitement thrown in," added rollo. "we'll have a difficulty to dodge those shells as we get clear of the fort, i'm thinking." "rush it and trust to luck. we'll do it all right," declared kenneth optimistically, as he hurriedly overhauled his cycle and proceeded to warm up the engine. it was a tricky business getting out of the fort, for the sunken lane that wound through the extensive glacis was littered with debris of exploded shells. there were deep holes in several places, while at various points the effect of the german projectiles was evident by the fact that the approach to the fort was choked by landslides. thrice the lads had to dismount and push their cycles over obstacles, to the accompaniment of the dull crash of the shells, some of which burst unpleasantly near. all the while, although not a defender was visible, the armoured cupolas were appearing and disappearing with the regularity of clockwork, sending out their iron hail upon the pontoons which the german engineers were constructing to replace the broken bridges at visé and argenteau. "all out!" exclaimed rollo as they reached the open road. with throttle well open and spark advanced, both motor-cycles bounded forward. the pace was terrific. at times the riders were almost jerked from the saddles as their steeds leapt across the irregularities on the surface of the _pavé_. the lads could no longer hear the thunder of the guns: it was drowned by the roar of their exhausts. the wind shrieked past their ears, grit flew in showers, a cloud of dust followed in their wake. suddenly they saw a large silvery-grey object swoop down about a quarter of a mile ahead, close to the outskirts of the village of jupille, which had been abandoned by the terrified inhabitants. the riders recognized it as one of the german taubes that had been aggressively active during the operations by locating the position of the belgian trenches. the monoplane was in difficulties. it took all the skill of the pilot to prevent it from making a nose-end dive to earth. with superb presence of mind he managed to restore the disturbed equilibrium and to bring the taube to rest without much damage. bringing his motor-cycle to a halt, kenneth dismounted and placed his mount on its stand. rollo did likewise. "what's the game?" he asked as his companion unfastened the flap of his holster. "we'll collar those fellows," declared kenneth resolutely "they must not get away." "but the dispatch?" "this is more important, i guess. see, those fellows are already setting things to rights. before any of the belgian vedettes can come up they will be off again." kenneth was right in his surmise. there were no troops within a mile of the place. the two men who formed the crew of the monoplane were feverishly tackling the work of making good the damage. one of the wires actuating the elevating gear had been cut through by a chance belgian bullet--one amongst a thousand more that had been fired at the troublesome taube. "surrender!" shouted kenneth, advancing to within fifty feet of the aviators and levelling his revolver. rollo, cooler than his companion, steadied the barrel of his heavy pistol in the crook of his arm. the pilot had been so engrossed in his work that he had not noticed the arrival of the lads. at the sound of kenneth's voice he had just completed the joining up of the severed wire. he made a rush to the propeller and began to swing it in order to start the engine. this was more than kenneth had bargained for. it seemed too much like shooting down a man in cold blood. he need not have been so chivalrous, for the next instant a bullet tore through his hair and sent his cap a couple of yards away. the observer of the taube had, at the first alarm, flung himself upon the ground and had fired at the lad with a rifle. before the man could thrust home a fresh cartridge kenneth was snug behind a rise in the ground. rollo, twenty paces to the right, had likewise taken cover. the powerful motor was now working. the propeller blades glittered like a circle of light as they revolved with a terrific buzz. the draught of the propeller threw up a cloud of dust as high as a three-storied house. through the haze thus caused the lads could distinguish the forms of the aviators as they scrambled into their seats. both dispatch-riders emptied the contents of their revolvers, perhaps a little wildly, but the result was none the less disastrous to the taube. there was a blinding flash, a report, and a rush of air that drove the dust-cloud in all directions. one of the bullets had pierced the petrol-tank, and a spark had done the rest. in an instant the taube was enveloped in flame. the pilot, his hands held to his face, was stumbling blindly away from the inferno, his clothes burning furiously. the observer ran for nearly twenty yards, spun round thrice, and collapsed. rollo was the one in this instance to take the initiative. he ran to the pilot, tripped him up, and began to heap handfuls of dust upon his burning clothing. by kenneth's aid the flames were extinguished, but by this time the unfortunate german was unconscious. as for the observer, he was found severely wounded, one of the heavy revolver bullets having passed completely through his shoulder. "now, what's to be done?" asked rollo, as the lads ejected the expended ammunition and reloaded their revolvers. "carry on with the dispatch, of course," replied kenneth. "we can do no more here. hello! here are the belgian cavalry." up rode a patrol of lancers. dismounting, and leaving their horses in charge of one-third of their number, the men advanced. the officer in charge took in the situation at a glance, for the twelve empty revolver cartridges on the ground told their own tale. "you had better proceed; enough time has already been wasted," he said, when he learnt the mission of the dispatch-riders. "we will attend to these." "that's a nasty knock," observed rollo ruefully, as they hurried back to their motor-cycles. "h'm, yes," admitted his companion reluctantly. "perhaps the chap was a bit nettled because his men didn't bag the taube." but as they rode past the scene of their exploit the captain called his men to attention--a tribute to the resource and daring of the british lads. already the belgian cavalrymen had shown signs of their humanity, for by means of their lances two stretchers had been improvised, and the wounded aviators were on the way to one of the hospitals in the beleaguered city. chapter viii in british uniforms shells were intermittently dropping upon the houses and in the streets as kenneth and rollo entered the apparently deserted city of liége. the majority of the inhabitants, their numbers augmented by hundreds of terrified refugees from the surrounding villages, had taken refuge in cellars, while crowds, under the mistaken belief in the immunity of the churches from shell-fire, had sought doubtful shelter in the sacred edifices. others, again, fearful at the threat of von emmich to begin a general bombardment upon the city unless the forts surrendered--a threat that the gallant general leman treated with contempt--were boarding the last trains to leave liége. the day was excessively hot and close. the wind that had blown strongly during the preceding night had dropped. several of the houses had taken fire, and the pungent smell of smoke filled the air. frequently, before the dispatch-riders reached their destination, they were compelled to slacken pace, owing to the clouds of smoke that drifted slowly across the almost deserted streets. they found the commandant, with several of his staff, calmly engaged in his work, and heedless of the fact that several shells had already burst in front of the palace of justice in which he had taken up his quarters. commandant fleurus was a short, stocky man of about fifty, and rather inclined to corpulence. his head was as bald as an egg, with the exception of a ring of jet-black hair like a monkish tonsure. his eyes were small, resembling black beads, and rapid in their movements. he was writing when kenneth was shown in. without moving his head, which was slightly inclined, he fixed the dispatch-rider with his piercing stare. "message, sir, from major le tourneur." the commandant took the letter and, with a swift movement, tore open the flap of the envelope. "this is marked 7.15 a.m.!" he exclaimed. "it's now a quarter to nine. why this delay?" "we--that is, my comrade--crippled a taube, sir." "crippled a taube? what, pray, has a dispatch-rider to do with taubes?" demanded commandante fleurus sternly. "do you know that it is your duty to deliver messages at all costs, and in the least possible time, regardless of taubes, zeppelins, and the german emperor himself?" kenneth did not reply. the fiery nature of the little belgian literally consumed him. he had, however, the good sense to see that the rebuke was merited. "well, sir, what have you to say?" "it was an error of judgment, sir, which i regret," said kenneth. "we crippled the taube as it was on the point of rising. otherwise----" "were there no troops available?" "some lancers arrived while the taube was burning." the commandant turned and took hold of a telephone that stood on the table at his side. "send captain planchenoît to me," he ordered; then, leaning back in his chair, he again fixed the british lad with his beady eyes. it was quite two minutes before the captain appeared, and the time seemed like two hours to the crestfallen kenneth. he had yet to learn the lesson that cast-iron discipline demands, and it seemed galling that his part in crippling one of the aerial spies should be practically ignored by the man who ought to have gone into ecstasies over the news. presently captain planchenoît entered, clicked his heels and saluted, then waited his superior officer's pleasure. the captain was a smart-looking man of more than average height, with a pleasant, open countenance. he was on the intelligence staff, attached to the brigade that had been hurriedly brought up from diest. "any information respecting the destruction of one of the enemy's aeroplanes?" demanded the commandant. "yes, mon commandant. it descended near the village of jupille. before our lancers could approach it took fire. our men found both pilot and observer wounded and brought them back. the captain of the troop reported that the taube was set on fire by the pistol-shots of two dispatch-riders." "at any risk to themselves?" "i know not, sir." "at any risk?" repeated commandant fleurus, shifting his glance from captain planchenoît to kenneth. in reply the lad removed his belgian military cap and pointed to the double hole made by the german observer's bullet. to kenneth's surprise the commandant leant back in his chair and gave vent to a hearty laugh. then he stood up and grasped the hand of the astonished youth. "go, bring in your compatriot," he exclaimed. "what's the game, old man?" asked rollo, who was cooling his heels in the corridor. "goodness knows! i can't make the little commandant out. he's an enigma. i've had a gruelling. come along." kenneth jerked out his sentences awkwardly, then, catching hold of his chum's arm, led him into the commandant's presence. "captain planchenoît," said the latter, after returning rollo's salute. "you applied for two additional dispatch-riders, i believe?" "that is so, mon commandant," replied the captain. "good! now listen to this, you brave englishmen. this is the dispatch you brought. it is from major résimont: 'in reply to your request for dispatch-riders i send you two english motor-cyclists, mm. kenneth everest and rollo barrington. from what i already know of them they are courageous and resolute, and their services are likely to be of more use in the operations before brussels than within the fortress of barchon. more so in view of the possible early appearance of the english forces who are to co-operate with the belgian armies in the field.'" "it is very good of major résimont to speak so well of us," said kenneth. "of course we must go where we are ordered, and that willingly; but we should be sorry to part from major résimont and the 9th regiment of the line." "it does not necessarily mean severing your connection with your old regiment--if old i might term it," declared the commandant. "in strict confidence i may tell you--i know that english gentlemen are always honourable--that perhaps before to-morrow we must abandon the city to the invaders. our numbers are insufficient to hold the trenches linking the chain of forts. we must concentrate our armies to the west of liége, leaving the forts to hold out until the english and french armies arrive. it is a sad thing to have to abandon such a city as this to the ruthless germans, but sacrifices must be made for the honour of our country. captain planchenoît will give you instruction where to proceed." just at that moment an orderly-sergeant entered the room, his face purple with excitement. "sir," he announced, "four english officers are without. they have arrived from ostend by motor-car and desire to see the general leman." commandant fleurus took the pieces of pasteboard the sergeant held in his hand, and passed them on first to kenneth and then to rollo. "see if you know any of these gentlemen," he said. "yes," replied rollo. "i know major athol duncan-dean of the duke of cornwall's light infantry. hello! what's the meaning of this?" he added in his native tongue. "jolly rummy, anyhow," commented kenneth, for in the word "cornwall's" the apostrophe was after the "s". "and major duncan-dean is too mighty particular to pass a mistake on his visiting-card like that," added rollo. "perhaps he lost his own and had them printed in belgium, and didn't notice the mistake until it was too late." "i'll mention it to the commandant. it's fishy." "since you know the officer, monsieur barrington," said the commandant, when kenneth had explained the nature of the error, "perhaps you will go with this sergeant. present my compliments, and say that the general leman is at fort de loncin, and that i, commandant fleurus, will be pleased to receive the english officers in his absence. but, listen; if by any chance the major duncan-dean is not the one you know, say that the general will receive presently, ask them to wait, and return immediately to me." escorted by the sergeant, rollo was taken to a room where four officers, correctly dressed in british field-service uniform, were seated. one glance was sufficient. none of them bore any resemblance to the major duncan-dean whom the lad knew well. there was only one major of that name in the duke of cornwall's light infantry, and he was a fairly frequent visitor at colonel barrington's house, especially during the shooting season. rollo delivered the commandant's message in english, explaining that he was british but attached to the belgian army, and that he was a son of colonel barrington of holmfrith, near truro. there was no sign of recognition on the part of the supposed major duncan-dean; instead, an awkward silence prevailed. none of the four officers seemed at all anxious to reply. they all looked disappointed and embarrassed. "our message is of great importance and for only the ears of general leman," said one of them at last. "we will not trouble the commandant except to give us permits to enter fort loncin and to telephone to the general that we are about to arrive." suddenly a hand grasped rollo's shoulder in a vice-like grip, and the muzzle of a revolver was clapped against his temple. "one sound and you are dead!" exclaimed a stern voice. the lad was already convinced that the so-called british army officers were germans in disguise. not only was he sure that the pseudo major duncan-dean was an impostor; the peculiar phraseology of the man who had replied to the commandant's message confirmed his conclusions. to crown everything, there was the conviction carried by the muzzle of that revolver. rollo spent a nasty minute. his mind was working furiously, weighing up the factors of the situation. to raise the alarm meant death to himself; to fail to do so might result in the cold-blooded massacre of commandant fleurus and several of the staff; while, with the head-quarters telephone at their disposal, the four germans might play havoc with the plans of the belgian commander-in-chief. the germans were talking rapidly in a low tone. the one who held rollo prisoner still kept the revolver against the lad's temple; the rest had each drawn an automatic pistol, and were evidently about to force their way into the presence of the commandant. "i'll wait till those fellows go out into the corridor," thought the lad, "then i'll try the effect of a sudden blow in this gentleman's wind. it may do the trick; if not, my number's up. anyway, it's better than being snuffed out without making an attempt to fight for it." although he kept as quiet as he possibly could, rollo could feel his heart thumping violently, while his temples throbbed until the muzzle of the german's revolver seemed to be beating a tattoo. "keep steady!" hissed his captor. "this pistol has hair-trigger. might go off if you shake." it was on the tip of rollo's tongue to reply that he was not shaking by reason of fear; but realizing that such a statement might put the german additionally upon his guard, the lad kept silent. presently one of the conspirators replaced his revolver, and with his free hand grasped the handle of the door. the other two stood behind, ready to sally forth on their murderous and treacherous work. rollo mentally pulled himself together. another ten or twenty seconds would decide the fate of his plan--and of himself. suddenly the subdued daylight of the room was pierced by a dozen simultaneous flashes. the rattle of musketry sounded like the discharge of a twenty-one-inch howitzer. the place was filled with the haze of smokeless powder. instinctively the lad ducked. there was a tremendous crash above his head. a thousand lights danced before his eyes, and he lost consciousness. chapter ix a midnight retirement when rollo opened his eyes he found himself lying in the open air. he was in one of the courtyards of the palace of justice. the thunder of the bombardment still roared. the noise of the guns recalled his scattered thoughts to the event that had almost cost him his life. a belgian army doctor was kneeling by his side, while kenneth supported his head. around him stood a number of soldiers, some of whom had paused in the act of cleaning their rifles in order to watch their english comrade's return to consciousness. "hello, kenneth!" exclaimed rollo, somewhat vacantly. "what has happened? ah, i know--those germans!" "they won't trouble us again, old man," replied kenneth. "you're in luck again. it was your suspicions that put the commandant on his guard. but i'll tell you more about it later on." "you must not unduly excite your friend," cautioned the doctor. "he has no bodily injury, but his nerves are stricken. he must rest until to-morrow. i will have him taken into a safe cellar, where he need fear nothing from those german shells." "won't you come with me, kenneth?" asked rollo. "sorry, old man, but i'm warned for duty at five o'clock--seventeen hours, they call it. all being well, i'll look you up in the morning." "see that my bike is all right." "rather!" replied kenneth cheerily. "don't worry about it. i'll look after it." later on in the evening rollo heard of the circumstances under which the supposed british officers were shot down. the room in which they had been asked to wait was, years ago, used as a place of observation for prisoners awaiting trial. the carved oak panelling terminated about six inches from the heavily-raftered ceiling. at one end was a space between two parallel massive beams, through which, from a gallery without, it was possible to observe all that was taking place, although the watchers were themselves unseen. upon his attention being called to the error on the pseudo british major's visiting-card, the commandant's suspicions were aroused. as soon as rollo was dispatched with his message, a file of skilled riflemen ascended the observation gallery. noiselessly they took up their positions, and having witnessed the holding up of their british comrade, they delivered a volley that instantly exterminated the treacherous germans. rollo had, indeed, a narrow escape, for his captor in falling had convulsively pressed the trigger of his revolver. the bullet missed the lad's head by a couple of inches, but the blast from the muzzle had scorched his temple. barrington was in the midst of a deep slumber, in spite of the thunder of the guns, when he was awakened by someone shaking him by the shoulder. "what's up?" he asked sleepily, for at the moment he fancied himself back at st. cyprian's. by the feeble glimmer of a candle-lantern he saw his chum. "sorry to disturb you, old man," said kenneth apologetically, "but if you don't want to find yourself a prisoner in the hands of the germans you must make a move. the bulk of the belgian infantry is evacuating the town. the mayor is going to surrender liége at noon, i believe." "the forts haven't fallen?" asked rollo, springing out of bed, only to discover how shaky he felt. "not a bit of it," replied kenneth confidently. "they'll hold out for months, i expect. no, it is only on account of the damage to the public buildings and private property that liége is to be given up. i don't think it will be of much use to the germans. they'll have considerable difficulty to pass between the forts. they say the germans have had another nasty reverse, and that they asked for an armistice in order to bury their dead. our fellows have refused; they are beginning to sum up the cultured teuton at his true price. but how do you feel?" "pretty fit, though a bit rocky," admitted rollo. "where are the bikes?" "we'll have to wheel them. i've taken off the belts. orders have been given for the troops intended for the field to withdraw as quietly as possible, you know. come along." rollo had now thrown on his clothes, his chum assisting him to buckle on the belt to which was attached his revolver holster. together they left the vaulted cellar and gained the street. it was a perfectly dark night. the stars were obscured, the air was misty and hot. away to the north, south, and east the sky was illuminated by the lightning-like glare of the heavy guns as the forts exchanged a hot fire with the german field artillery. "can you manage it?" asked kenneth anxiously, as rollo wheeled his deliberately crippled motor into the street. "rather," replied his companion with forced determination. "i'm not keen on leaving my jigger for a rascally prussian to smash. i'm jolly glad we are still attached to the 9th regiment of the line. we may see more of major résimont. he's quite a decent sort." "and captain planchenoît is a brick," added kenneth. "i've been talking to some of the men in his company. they swear by him; but he's awfully keen on discipline, they say, and gets plenty of work out of his men." the dispatch-riders found the regiment drawn up in column of fours in a narrow street behind the church of st. jacques. in this dense formation the men would have suffered severely had a shell fallen in their ranks; but owing to the fact that the germans were hoping to take early possession of the city, their gunners no longer dropped projectiles into liége, devoting their attention to the stubborn forts that had already thrown the imperial time-table into confusion. although the belgian troops were no longer elated, they were far from being downcast. they realized that strategic reasons necessitated the evacuation of the city. they hoped that the forts could hold out. already they had proved themselves equal man for man to the vaunted soldiers of the kaiser. their object was now to contest every yard of the way to brussels, their determination being strengthened by the widespread belief that the pick of the english army would speedily be fighting by their side. several of the men of the 9th regiment bore evidences of the hard part they had taken in the repulse of the initial german attacks. many had bandages round their heads; others had their hands swathed in linen, while a few limped badly; yet one and all showed resolute courage that augured ill for any prussian regiment which should happen to cross steel with the valiant defenders of the cockpit of europe. presently the colonel gave an order. the men unfixed bayonets and sloped arms. in the centre of the column the lads could see the cased colours round which a fierce struggle had taken place during the preceding day. then, at the word of command, the regiment swung briskly along the narrow street. kenneth and rollo found themselves with two other dispatch-riders at the rear of the column. the other motor-cyclists had gone on a journey that knows no return. there was also a detachment of twenty cyclists belonging to the regiment, but most of these silent scouts were far afield, making certain that the line of retreat was in no danger of being ambushed by the wily uhlans. the route lay between forts de hollogne and de flémalle, through tortuous by-lanes. over and over again the column was obliged to halt owing to the congestion of the roads, for twenty thousand belgian troops--field artillery, cavalry, and infantry--were evacuating the doomed city that night. before they were clear of the environs of liége, rollo began to feel the effects of his adventure with the german officers. the sweat poured from him as he gamely pushed his unwieldy motor-cycle. anxiously kenneth watched him, unable to give assistance save by a few words of encouragement. every time there was a halt rollo leant across the saddle, welcoming the rest, yet dreading the exertion required to resume the tortuous march. to lag behind was to risk capture, for small parties of uhlans were known to have penetrated into the villages of hollogne and montegnée, which lay between the as yet unconquered forts and the city of liége; otherwise he would have fallen out, waited till dawn, and then cycled to overtake the regiment. during one of these short, unavoidable, halts a voice came through the darkness. "monsieur everest--is monsieur everest there?" "here i am, sir," replied kenneth, recognizing the voice as that of captain planchenoît. "ah, good! i wish to enquire after your english comrade." "he is here, sir." "ah, again good! i thought he would be unfit to move." "he's not very much up to the mark, sir." the captain flashed an electric torch upon the motor-cyclists. "ciel! you are indeed right, monsieur everest. i will see to matters. private roulaix," he added, addressing a belgian who was walking his "push-bike", "place your bicycle in the first wagon that passes. say that i, captain planchenoît, orders it. then relieve your english comrade of his motor-cycle. monsieur barrington, as soon as private roulaix returns i will take you to one of the wagons. you are not, at present, fit to walk, still less to push that motor-cycle." for the rest of that night kenneth was without the company of his chum. as the grey dawn began to break, he too felt that he was nearly done up, but still the steady retreat continued. it was not until six o'clock in the morning that the 9th regiment of the line was ordered to bivouac outside the village of omal. here trenches were dug, barbed-wire entanglements set up, barns and cottages loopholed and placed in a state of defence in order to keep in check the german hordes until the expected aid was forthcoming. for the next twenty-four hours the 9th regiment was inactive, as far as actual fighting was concerned. with the rest of the mobile belgian forces, the men were enjoying a well-earned respite and improving their position. although rollo still remained off duty, kenneth, with the rest of the motor dispatch-riders, had plenty to do. frequently the lad had to ride off at full speed to carry orders to bands of armed civilians to cease firing upon belgian airmen; for these plucky air-scouts were so harried by the fire of their undisciplined fellow-countrymen that it is not to be wondered at that after a time they declined to fly at all. kenneth had just returned from one of these errands when the colonel of the regiment sent for him. "you know the way to tongres?" he asked. "yes, sir," replied the lad promptly, for although he had never been there, a close study of the map had enabled him to fix its position in his mind. "then bear a verbal message to general féchard. say that in view of an impending strong attack upon our position reinforcements are urgently requested to hold the village of omal. mitrailleuses are particularly desirable. is that clear? then repeat the message." kenneth did so satisfactorily. the colonel nodded approval. "now go," said he. "as quickly as you can, for the situation is critical." chapter x the uhlan patrol rollo was standing by his chum's motor-cycle when kenneth left the colonel's quarters--a cottage standing well apart from the rest of the village. "thought you'd be off somewhere when the colonel sent for you, old man," he said. "well, i could go with you, but i feel absolutely rotten. look here," and barrington opened his coat and displayed the tops of two soda-water bottles, "i managed to get hold of these. take one." "no, thanks," replied kenneth. "you want them a jolly sight more than i do." "but you must," persisted rollo. "it's fearfully hot to-day. besides, i think i can get hold of some more." "all right," agreed his chum reluctantly, and taking one of the bottles he placed it in the outside breast-pocket of his coat, resolving to restore it intact upon his return. the request of the colonel of the 9th regiment was most essential. to the north of omal was a gap of nearly two miles in the belgian line, as a portion of one of the brigades had failed to take up its allotted position. omal was a salient angle in the defenders' formation, and should the village be carried by the germans the belgian army would be split asunder by the wedge-like advance of their far more numerous foes. although the country was fairly open kenneth rode cautiously. it was a nerve-racking ordeal, since every bush or tree might be affording concealment to the uhlans, who were known to have already penetrated far into the country. almost as dangerous were the belgian guerrillas, who often fired indiscriminately upon any man in a uniform that they failed to recognize. but beyond being twice stopped by belgian patrols and made to produce his military pass, kenneth reached his destination without being molested. he delivered his message, receiving a reply that a machine-gun detachment would be sent off as quickly as possible, and set off on his return journey. perhaps the fact that he had but recently passed along the same road without difficulty made him slightly reckless. he increased his speed till the motor-cycle was travelling at nearly forty miles an hour. soon he came to a straight, narrow road lined with gaunt trees--one of the avenues that are a common feature in the eastern part of belgium. suddenly he gave a gasp of surprise. a horseman had just appeared at the farthermost end of the avenue. at first the lad took him to be one of the belgian lancers, whose similarity to the german uhlans was somewhat pronounced, but a rapidly nearing view assured him that the man was one of the enemy. another uhlan joined the first. they both lowered their lances and waited. kenneth slipped out his clutch and applied both brakes. the motor-cycle came quickly to a stop, the engine running furiously, while the open "cut-out" emitted a rapid succession of sharp reports like the detonations of a maxim-gun. there was yet time to turn his cycle, remount, and escape by the way he had come, he reasoned; but, even as he was in the act of facing about, he made the additionally disconcerting discovery that his retreat was cut off. five or six uhlans had evidently been in ambush, and, having allowed the solitary dispatch-rider to pass them, were waiting to assist in his capture. the ditch and the trees formed an impassable barrier for the heavy motor-cycle; while without it flight was almost out of the question, when it was the case of a man on foot pursued by the fleet uhlan horses. for one brief instant the thought of surrendering tamely flashed through the lad's mind. he bore no written dispatch; his capture would result in no important information being gained by the enemy. it seemed the easiest solution to the problem. "i'm dashed if i do," ejaculated kenneth, banishing the temptation almost as soon as it suggested itself. "here goes; it's neck or nothing." he was back in the saddle in double-quick time. with the clutch in and the engine barking furiously he tore towards the two uhlans, who were sitting on their horses at a distance of about fifty yards from each other. kenneth drew his revolver. with his right hand thus occupied, throttle and air lever had to take care of themselves. at thirty miles an hour he tore towards the nearmost of his antagonists. the uhlan lowered his lance-point. he was trembling to such an extent that the glittering point was describing erratic curves in the sunlight. his resolution had vanished at the sight of the rapidly-approaching motor-cycle. his horse began to rear, alarmed by the loud and rapid pulsations of the engine. kenneth's hopes rose. he saw the possibility of being able to slip past the plunging, terrified animal, and in order to improve his chances he let fly a couple of shots, both of which missed their mark. no longer was the long lance a menace. the uhlan's whole efforts were centred in trying to keep his seat, while the now maddened animal snorted and plunged in a most frantic manner. still grasping his revolver, although he made no further attempt to use it, the young dispatch-rider placed his wrist upon the right handle-grip in order to steady the steering. he shut his jaw tightly. the critical moment was nigh. suddenly the horse backed, barring the narrow path to safety. kenneth saw in the fraction of a second that a collision was inevitable. he had a momentary glimpse of the uhlan's panic-stricken face, his staring eyes and wide-open mouth--then crash! [illustration: kenneth had a momentary glimpse of the uhlan's panic-stricken face ... then crash!] hardly knowing whether he was injured or not, kenneth scrambled to his feet. his motor-cycle was on its side within a yard of the prostrate and still kicking horse. his revolver had vanished. in his fall it had flown from his grasp into the ditch. the uhlan lay upon the ground motionless--whether killed or merely stunned the lad knew not; nor had he an opportunity to ascertain, for in front of him was another german, and four hundred yards behind him the five or six who had cut off his retreat. the man in front had succeeded in regaining control over his less startled horse and, lance in rest, bore down upon the defenceless motor-cyclist. hardly knowing how he did it, kenneth cleared the ditch and sought a temporary refuge behind a tree. he realized that the respite would be but a brief one, for on the approach of the rest of the patrol his "number would be up". infuriated by the mishap to their comrade, the savage uhlans, whose chief mission it was to strike terror into the inhabitants of a conquered district, would not be likely to give quarter. suddenly kenneth's hand came in contact with the soda-water bottle that rollo had pressed upon him. he drew it from his pocket, and as the uhlan rode up to the edge of the ditch he dashed it to the ground at the feet of the restless horse. the result exceeded the lad's wildest expectations, for the bottle broke with a report almost equal to that of a small shell. fragments of glass flew in all directions. the horse reared, maddened by the slight wounds caused by the sharp pieces of the broken bottle. its rider, quite as terrified, formed but one conclusion, that the desperate belgian (as he took kenneth to be) was armed with bombs. spurring his horse he rode for dear life towards his comrades, who, rendered cautious at the sight of two of their number being worsted, hesitated to advance. kenneth, too, was on the horns of a dilemma. to all appearances his cycle was hopelessly damaged, and although the road was clear he stood little chance of escaping from the rest of the uhlans. to remain where he was was equally hazardous. with his revolver in his possession he would readily have made a brave stand, but the weapon was lying in five feet of mud and water. suddenly came the tap, tap, tap of a machine-gun. the rest of the uhlan patrol broke and fled across the fields, leaving two of their number writhing on the ground. another had his horse shot under him, but, quite callous to their comrades' fate, the three remaining fugitives never slackened rein, their sole thoughts being for their own safety. kenneth recrossed the ditch--far less agilely than he had a few moments before, for his thigh was aching dully. he could see no signs of his rescuers. the fire had evidently been a long-range one. he made his way to his motor-cycle. with considerable effort he raised it and placed it on its stand. upon examination he found that the damage done was not so great as he fully expected. the actual collision had smashed the lamp and bent the stem of the handle-bars, but, thanks to the powerful springs, the front forks had stood the severe strain of the impact. the controls were intact, while the only other damage was that the left foot-rest was bent. in falling sideways the weight of the cycle had been thrown upon this exposed part, which had, to a great extent, saved the machine. at the second attempt the motor fired. the hind wheel revolved without showing any signs of wobbling. the lad gave a whoop of delight; his precious mount was still serviceable. he next directed his attention towards the uhlan whom, in naval parlance, he had "rammed". the fellow had been stunned by the fall from his horse, but was on the point of regaining consciousness. "you look a tough customer, my friend," soliloquized the lad as he looked upon the coarse, brutal features of his vanquished assailant. "i think you will be quite capable of looking after yourself, without requiring any attention from me. i'll take your helmet as a souvenir, though; and, while i am about it, i think i'll stop you from doing further mischief." with this kenneth removed the uhlan's sword, lance, and carbine. the lance, being made of light steel, he broke into three pieces; the other weapons and the german's ammunition he threw into the ditch to keep company with his own revolver. while thus engaged the motor-cyclist perceived the approach of a body of men accompanied by dogs. they were the belgian machine-gun battery whose fire had effectually routed the uhlan patrol. "they'll be at omal before me," thought kenneth. "i suppose it would be best to stop and explain matters; for if i made off they might take it into their heads to pot me." "so you have settled with one of this scum," exclaimed the belgian major in charge of the detachment as he returned kenneth's salute. "ma foi! i am of a mind to shoot him." "but he is a prisoner of war," expostulated the lad. the belgian shrugged his shoulders. "you have but to go to that burning cottage"--he pointed to a building about a mile and a half away--"to see what these wretches have been doing. a whole family of inoffensive peasants shot--men, women, and children. yes, children," he added, noting the incredulous look on the british lad's face. "however, we belgians must set an example to those savages," continued the officer. "we will at least take him with us, and put him on a fair trial. but you are unarmed: how did you vanquish this fellow?" kenneth told him. the belgian major and those of his men who were within ear-shot simply roared with laughter. "charged his horse with your motor-cycle, and frightened away another uhlan with a soda-water bottle!" exclaimed the officer when he recovered himself. "excellent! it shows that these germans are not a quarter as formidable as they would have us believe. were you hurt?" "only bruised a little, sir. but, with your permission, i will go, or your men will be with my regiment before i am." the lad ran his cycle and vaulted into the saddle. the motor ran as well as before, and, beyond a slight difficulty in the steering, it was none the worse for its rough handling. the damage to the lamp mattered but little, as, by night, riding lights were forbidden, since they might betray the rider to the enemy. having reported the success of his mission and the approach of the dog-drawn machine-gun detachment, kenneth went to find his chum. rollo was sitting, in company with others of the dispatch-rider section, in a shelter made of branches of trees and rough thatch. "hullo, old man!" he exclaimed. "what have you there--a uhlan helmet? and what's the matter with your bike?" kenneth explained, and afterwards had to repeat his story in french for the benefit of the others. "i will help you to straighten the handle-bars," volunteered one of the belgian cyclists, who was a motor-repairer by trade. "meanwhile, if you are desirous of sending that helmet to your friends in england, you will do well to pack it up at once. there is a dispatch leaving for brussels within half an hour." "i wonder what the governor will say to this," observed kenneth as he directed the bulky package. "my first trophy! goodness only knows when we shall hear from home." the lads had already written to their respective parents informing them of the drastic step they had taken, but, owing to the dislocation of the postal service, no reply had been forthcoming, and they had hardly expected one. it took two hours' hard work in the blazing sunshine for kenneth and his belgian friend to set the motorcycle to rights. "if i hadn't been so inconsiderate as to throw that bottle of soda-water away we might have had a decent drink," observed kenneth as he fanned his perspiring brow. "never mind," rejoined rollo. "you might have drunk it as soon as i gave you the bottle; in which case i don't suppose you would have felt the benefit of it now." "i don't suppose i would," agreed kenneth grimly. chapter xi the raid on tongres during the next few days events moved rapidly, the belgians having to retire before vastly superior forces in point of numbers. it so happened that on the sunday, the 9th of august, kenneth and rollo were sent to tongres with a message to the burgomaster, giving him instructions as to the removal of the town treasury to a place of greater safety. the place had little appearance of being in the war area when the two lads rode into it. the belgian troops had evacuated it on the previous day, and since there were no signs of the invaders, the remaining inhabitants were almost at their ease. many of them, dressed in their best, were on their way to church. alighting outside the town hall, the two dispatch-riders enquired for the chief magistrate, only to be informed that he was in another part of the town on official business, but was expected back within an hour. "is there no way of sending for him?" asked rollo of the member of the civil guard who had answered their summons. the man shook his head doubtfully. "it is just possible," he replied. "i will see my sergeant, and he will doubtless give the necessary orders. meanwhile messieurs might like to rest at the inn? immediately upon the burgomaster's return i will see that you are informed." "not a bad idea that," was kenneth's comment. "we'll put up the bikes and order a decent meal. roughing it on active service is all very fine, but there are times when one likes to have a slightly more civilized table than that of mother earth. i wonder if we could get a bath?" everest's hopes were not to be realized, for, with many apologies, the landlord informed the british lads that he had nothing in the way of _déjeuner_. bacon and eggs? no; he was without either. he might see if his friend, monsieur jambonne, could oblige; but, in the meanwhile, would messieurs care to sit in the _salle à manger_? _café au lait_? yes; that would be ready in a few minutes. selecting two comfortable chairs in front of the wide-open window, the chums awaited the return of the burgomaster. there was plenty to be seen, for the townsfolk were still streaming along the broad thoroughfare, discoursing mainly upon the all-absorbing topic of the war. all at once the people stopped. some of them turned and fled; others backed against the walls of the houses, or else took refuge in the hastily-opened doors. "what's up now, i wonder?" asked rollo, leaning out of the window only to retire hastily. trotting along the road was a squadron of german cavalry. the enemy had made a totally unexpected raid upon the town of tongres. "it won't do for us to be seen," exclaimed kenneth, "especially in uniform. and those fellows are particularly certain to make a bee-line for the various inns as soon as they break ranks. let's clear out." just then up ran the landlord, who had taken the precaution of closing and barring his doors, an example which many of his neighbours hastened to follow. "do not remain here, messieurs, i implore you," he began in rapid sentences punctuated with excited gestures. "if the bosches find men in uniform in my house they will be furious with me." "all right," said kenneth reassuringly. "if we can get our cycles out by the back way we'll clear off and give the alarm. two regiments ought to be sufficient to trap these fellows." "it is impossible to escape, messieurs. the germans are holding all the approaches to the town." "then what do you suggest?" asked rollo calmly. "the roof, monsieur; thence you can make your way along by the parapets of many houses, till you reach the roof of the _chapelle_. there you ought to be safe, unless these rascals take it into their heads to burn the town." "very well; show us the way," agreed rollo. "only see if you can manage to hide our motor-cycles." having shown the lads the exit on to the roof, their host left them to their own devices. it was a comparatively easy matter to creep along the gutters, for they were hidden from observation by the parapets of the various adjacent buildings. the only difficult part of the journey was crossing the gap between the end house and the roof of the _chapelle_--a distance of about five feet in width. sixty feet below there was a narrow alley, through which several terrified townsfolk were hurrying, all too intent to gaze skywards as the lads made their daring leap. "now we're safe for the present," exclaimed kenneth. "we can even look over the parapet and see what's going on." "right-o! only take your cap off. it might attract attention," cautioned rollo. "if we keep close to this pinnacle it ought to be as safe as anything, unless some fool of a civilian starts taking pot-shots at those fellows." from their lofty refuge the lads were enabled to observe the methods adopted by the germans in "holding-up" the town. with the cavalry were four armoured motor-cars in which were mounted quick-firing guns. these were stationed in the square so as to command the principal approaches. meanwhile most of the horsemen had dismounted, and had set off on various prearranged missions. some proceeded to the post-office, where they destroyed the telephone and telegraph instruments and, as was afterwards ascertained, seized the sum of 10,000 francs from the safe. others tore up the railway lines at the junction, thus interrupting communications with both hasselt and st. trond. this work of destruction they took care to achieve without the use of explosives, in order to avoid giving the alarm to the nearest belgian troops. presently the lads saw a dignified man, whom they rightly concluded was the burgomaster, being led to the town hall. outside the building floated the belgian tricolour, and this his captors ordered him to haul down. he refused; they threatened, but their threats failed to move the stanch patriot. in the end, one of the germans had to perform the task; but the invaders made a counter-stroke by compelling the burgomaster to hand over the keys of the town treasury. this done, the germans ordered a meal to be provided, and this they paid for out of the money they had taken from the authorities. then, having loaded their booty on a couple of commandeered wagons, they prepared to evacuate the town. "well, up to the present those fellows haven't done anything that any combatant force wouldn't do," declared rollo. "i suppose it is because the townsfolk kept their heads and didn't start firing at them from the houses." "yes; but they're off. see, their vedettes are returning. i say, the coast is clear; let's make a dash for it." "easier said than done, old man," objected rollo. "jumping across a five-foot gap is fairly easy when the landing-place is lower than the kick-off spot. returning is quite another matter." "there must be some way down from these leads," persisted kenneth. "let's have a look round." investigation showed that there was a means of communication between the roof and the interior of the _chapelle_ by a small door in one of the angle-turrets. the disconcerting part of the discovery lay in the fact that the door was heavily bolted on the inside. "why not try climbing down by means of the lightning-conductor?" suggested kenneth. "it's bound to be fairly strong, and we have our motor-gloves to protect our hands." "thanks, i'd rather try the jump," declared his companion. "but i'd much rather try an easier method." "i'll tackle it, and then i can get into this building, ascend the turret, and let you out." "no you don't," objected rollo firmly. "if we cannot find a better way, here we stop till the germans are gone, and then we can shout for assistance." but the restless kenneth was far from remaining inactive. he continued his investigations on the sides of the edifice away from the view of the invaders. "i have it!" he exclaimed. "see that spout? it runs close to that open window, you'll notice. if you can give me a hand i can lower myself sufficiently to clear the bulging top of the spout, and the rest will be easy." the scheme looked feasible, and rollo made no further objection. it was risky, of course, but with ordinary caution kenneth could reach the window after he had descended about ten feet of piping--which was infinitely better than climbing down sixty feet or so of copper tape. having secured a firm hold upon the spouting, kenneth began to descend hand-over-hand fashion, although he took care to let his weight act as perpendicularly as possible, lest any outward thrust with his feet might wrench the securing nails of the pipe from the cement. without mishap he descended until he was almost on a level with the open window, the iron casement frame of which swung outward. then, to his consternation, kenneth found that he had miscalculated the distance, and that the upper edge of the casement was six inches beyond his reach. at the same moment he became aware of the effect of his collision with the uhlan. his limbs began to feel stiff and cramped. frantically he began to clamber back to the parapet, but the effort was too great. with a sickening shudder he felt the pipe working loose from the wall. for the first time in his attempt he gave a downward glance that wellnigh proved fatal. the pavement, fifty feet below, exercised a horrible fascination. "what's wrong?" enquired rollo anxiously, for he could see by his chum's ashen-grey face that something was amiss. "can't reach the window," gasped kenneth. "i believe i've strained a muscle, too. i must have a shot at climbing all the way down." "hold hard a moment," exclaimed rollo. "i'll half-close the window and you might reach it." "be quick, then," gasped his unfortunate comrade. "i can't hold on much longer." at that moment he failed to see how rollo could reach the casement, although his chum's confident assertion cheered him. he knew by experience that rollo rarely suggested a plan without being able to carry it through. already rollo was at work. producing a length of stout string from his pocket, he removed his boot. to this he attached the string, which was about four yards in length. leaning over the parapet he lowered his boot until it dangled an inch or so before the iron rod that held the window open. a rapid upward jerk and the casement was free to swing; a little skilful manoeuvring and the weighted string drew the hitherto unattainable window frame within kenneth's reach. perhaps the climber was over-anxious, and in consequence neglected to observe the precautions he had hitherto taken, but as he swung off from the pipe he gave a heavy jerk. with a loud crash about ten feet of the spouting fell into the narrow lane. fortunately the casement held, and white and well-nigh breathless, kenneth slipped through the open window just as three or four germans, alarmed by the clatter, rushed up to ascertain the cause of the uproar. "steady!" cautioned rollo as his chum opened the door of the turret. "there are some germans on the prowl. they seem a bit suspicious owing to that iron-work falling." "they didn't spot you?" "no, i took good care of that." "then we'll descend. this building is full of people; they think they are safe, being in a place of worship. poor creatures! they don't know the germans." "but the germans haven't molested them." "there is no saying that they won't. fortunately the people haven't tried to shoot any of their unwelcome visitors. come, we'll descend." as kenneth had announced, the _chapelle_ was packed with terrified townsfolk. unnoticed, the lads made their way behind the altar, and gained the vestry. here a small door communicated with the alley. the germans, having discovered what had created the commotion, were content; they had not troubled to find out the cause but had rejoined their comrades in the market-place. the last of the pickets were already back, and the raiders were on the point of retiring. gaining the courtyard of the inn, the lads made sure that the german cavalrymen had, no doubt reluctantly, ceased to pester the troubled host with their attentions. "your motor-cycles are safe, messieurs," announced the innkeeper. "ciel! once those bosches get wedded to the bottle----" and he threw up his hands and raised his eyebrows with a gesture of utter dismay. refusing any payment for his services, and charging only for the coffee, the landlord escorted the two british dispatch-riders to yet another door, opening into a deserted street. "take the third turning to the right, messieurs," he directed; "it will bring you on the high road. yet i accept no responsibility; so take care. the uhlans--le diable les importe!--may be prowling about." having walked their cycles till they felt fairly certain that the noise of the engines would not reach the ears of the german raiders, the dispatch-riders set off at a furious pace towards the position occupied by their regiment. suddenly kenneth raised his hand, at the same time stopping his motor. rollo likewise dismounted. "uhlans!" whispered kenneth. a mile or so ahead were hundreds of cavalry, the men standing easy, while the horses were picketed in lines. apparently the enemy had thrown a strong wedge far into the position held a few hours previously by belgian troops. "if those fellows are acting as supports to the crowd that entered tongres, we are nicely trapped, by jove!" remarked kenneth. "the best thing we can do is to risk cutting across the fields, although, frankly, i don't relish the idea of making towards that wooded district. it is too jolly favourable for an ambush." "half a minute," rejoined rollo, unstrapping the case of his binoculars. "let's make sure. kenneth, old man, it's all right. these chaps are belgian lancers." in his excitement kenneth almost snatched the glasses from his chum. "you're right!" he exclaimed joyously, after a hasty view. "let's push on and tell them the position of affairs. they might be able to get a little of their own back." three minutes later the two dispatch-riders were making a brief yet concise report to the colonel commanding the belgian cavalry. as soon as they had finished, a bugle call, equivalent to the british "boot and saddle", rang out, and the lancers were soon cantering along the highway, followed by a mounted machine-gun section. "we may as well see the fun, considering what we've done in the matter," said kenneth, to which proposal rollo raised no objections. following at a discreet distance, they waited until the lancers halted; then, leaving their cycles by the side of a haystack, they overtook the belgian troops. thanks to his intimate knowledge of the locality, the colonel made his dispositions skilfully. at this spot the road from tongres to liége entered a shallow defile through which the returning germans were practically certain to pass. at a distance of two hundred yards on either side of the road were clumps of trees and patches of thick undergrowth, affording admirable cover for a considerable number of troops. the machine-gun detachment was split up, an equal number of mitrailleuses, screened with torn-up undergrowth, being placed on the rising ground on each side of the road, their line of fire sweeping the approach to the defile. with the guns were posted strong bodies of dismounted lancers, armed with carbines. in a steep dip in the road, the hollow of which was invisible beyond a distance of a hundred yards, shallow trenches, sufficient to wreck the armoured motor-cars, were dug, the excavated earth being carefully removed so as not to betray the presence of these obstructions. the bulk of the lancers, posted out of sight, were ready at the word of command to swoop down upon the rear of the german column and complete the work of destruction that the quick-firers and the rifles might leave undone. hardly were these preparations made when the belgian vedettes reported the approach of the raiders from tongres, and that the column was preceded by four men forming an advance-guard. the belgian colonel gave vent to an exclamation of annoyance. he had reckoned upon the germans making use of their armoured motor-cars for that purpose. bagging these would be a material loss to the enemy, whereas the capture of a few scouts would be of very little value, and the main body would be warned. he immediately detached a dozen dismounted men, ordering them to lie in ambush close to the road, and if possible to capture the scouts without having recourse to the use of fire-arms. the men quickly took up their positions in a ditch lined with tall grass, and so closely did they lie concealed that they were invisible even to their comrades on the rising ground behind them. presently the german advance-guard entered the defile. they had dined not wisely but too well, and, jubilant over the result of their successful raid, were sadly lax in the exercise of their military duties. two of them had removed their helmets, which were dangling from their saddles. all of them, almost overcome with wine and the heat of the day, were drowsy. suddenly the belgian ambush sprang to their feet. the startled germans were confronted by a row of rifles, levelled from a distance that would make a miss almost an impossibility. the lances fell from the nerveless hands of the astounded teutons, and with machine-like precision they raised their hands above their heads. in quick time they were disarmed, secured, and led away to the rear of the belgian machine-guns. barely was this done when two more troopers--the link between the advance-guard and the main body--rode up, only to be captured and secured as their predecessors had been. but, however lax the military discipline of the scouts, the commander of the german troops was not to be caught napping so easily. having failed to receive a signal from the advance-guard that all was well, he halted his men. the belgian colonel shrugged his shoulders. his keen insight told him that the enemy was suspicious; yet, knowing that the german officers were equipped with powerful field-glasses, he dared not order two of his men to give the supposed signal to advance. "at what range is the head of yonder column?" he asked, addressing the captain in charge of the mitrailleuse section. "five hundred and fifty metres, monsieur le major." thinking it better to open fire upon the germans, who were as yet in close formation, rather than wait for them to extend and take cover, the belgian commander was about to give the necessary order when the four armoured motor-cars were observed to dash forward. they advanced in pairs, ten yards separating the first two, with an interval of about a hundred yards between the second and third. the third and last were the same distance apart as were the first and second. to give the belgians their due, although they had good cause to think that their position had been divulged, they maintained perfect discipline and kept admirable cover. into the silent defile tore the first pair of cars, the gunners training their quick-firers in readiness to greet a possible but as yet unseen foe. down into the hollow plunged the first car. its front wheels dropped into the pitfall, and the next instant it toppled completely over. the second car tried in vain to pull up. the driver tugged at the steering-wheel; the heavy vehicle swerved, crashed into the wreckage of the first, and instantly burst into flame. the remaining cars, their occupants alarmed by the crash, halted. the road was too narrow to turn; to back at any rate of speed was impossible. the valley now echoed and re-echoed to the rattle of the mitrailleuses and the sharp crackle of musketry. the armoured cars were swept by a hail of bullets that killed or wounded every member of their crew, while the german horsemen were greeted with a devastating fire that threw them into disorder. some attempted to advance against the unseen foe, others threw themselves from their horses and, taking cover, replied with a feeble and futile rifle-fire. the majority turned and fled in spite of the threats and efforts of the officers. taking advantage of the confusion of their foes, the belgian mounted lancers were ordered to charge. in grand style they cleared the intervening ground, and, although several saddles were emptied, rode dashingly through the broken ranks of the invaders. in ten minutes they were in possession of the field, with the bulk of the money captured at tongres. "ha!" exclaimed captain planchenoît when, an hour later, the two british dispatch-riders reported themselves. "what is the adventure this time? have you delivered the message to the burgomaster of tongres?" "no, sir," replied kenneth. "we had no chance to do so. the germans have raided the town." "peste!" exclaimed the captain. "have they burned the place? did they seize the treasury?" "they did little damage, sir. they took the money with them, but our lancers ambushed them and recovered it." "just like our intrepid cavalry," remarked the captain complacently. "well, you may go, messieurs. i do not think you will be required any more at present." but before the day was done both lads were required. an account of their part in the successful counter-operations had been sent to the colonel of the 9th regiment of the line by the officer commanding the belgian lancers, and in front of their comrades kenneth everest and rollo barrington were promoted to the rank of corporal. chapter xii the mail escort during the next few days the belgian field army had no respite. landen was occupied by the germans on the 10th of august, and strong cavalry screens of the enemy advanced along the dutch border to within a few miles of the capital. other large bodies of cavalry threatened the belgian right wing, and in consequence a retirement of the small yet determined army was necessary. two days later the belgians gained a brilliant success at haelen, where the germans, incautiously attempting to force a passage of the river gethe, were driven back in disorder and with great loss. of this action kenneth everest and his companion saw nothing, having been sent on duty to the belgian capital. in brussels the lads remained two days, having to await a reply to the dispatch they had brought. during their brief periods of leisure they hastened to call at the house of major résimont in the rue de la tribune, but the place was in charge of servants. no news was to be obtained of mademoiselle yvonne résimont or of kenneth's sister. beyond the unauthenticated report that the two girls had left the school at visé a few hours before the commencement of the german bombardment, all traces of them were lost. "perhaps," suggested rollo, "your sister went back to england and took yvonne with her. they say that numbers of refugees have passed through rotterdam on their way across the north sea." "possibly," agreed kenneth. "in which case we are completely in the dark until we are lucky enough to get letters from home." the inhabitants of brussels were strangely calm. the fact that the german invaders had gained a firm footing in their country did not drive them into a panic. possibly events of past history had taught them to regard the overrunning of belgium as a foregone conclusion when the neighbouring great powers were at war. above all, they continued steadfastly to rely upon the prompt arrival of the british expeditionary force, which, in conjunction with their own army and that of the french nation, would quickly send the barbarous teutons fleeing for their lives across the rhine. "hark!" exclaimed rollo. "the papers are out. something important has happened." the chums had retired early to bed in their modest lodgings of the rue pontus, as they had been warned for duty at five on the following morning. their stock of money, although augmented by their scanty army pay, was visibly dwindling; but after more than a week in bivouacs they were grateful to sleep under a roof, undisturbed by the nerve-shattering roar of hostile guns. "it can wait till to-morrow," said kenneth with a prodigious yawn. "i feel too jolly tired----" the next moment he was out of bed and making for the window, for above the cheering on the grands boulevards came the oft-repeated cries of: "the english army in belgium". hastily scrambling into their clothes, the two excited lads made their way into the street and through the swarm of wildly exuberant citizens. after a struggle they succeeded, at the cost of a franc, in obtaining a copy of one of the local papers, and bore it back to their room in triumph. in huge letters were the words: "les anglais sur le continent", the report being taken from the french paper, _le journal_, dated thursday, the 13th august:-"by our special correspondent.--for several days the valiant british troops, who are to co-operate with our soldiers to repel the german aggression in belgium, have been crossing the straits. kept back at first by the risks of a naval combat which the english fleet was waiting to offer, in the north sea, to the principal units of the enemy marine, the disembarkation has now taken place in perfect order and with surprising regularity. up to the present the contingents sent forward in the direction of namur are considerable. "under the favour of darkness and in great mystery the transports were organized. during saturday night, by small detachments all along the belgian coast from ostend to zeebrugge, the steamers chartered by the british admiralty disembarked at first a small army, which moved before dawn to the position allotted to it. farther south, that same night, semaphores signalled the arrival of mysterious ships, which, after a brief stay, returned towards english shores. on the following day, too, at the same hour, similar operations and disembarkations took place with such rapidity and such silence that the inhabitants saw nothing." "sounds promising," remarked rollo thoughtfully. "but this is friday. do you think it likely that our troops have been on belgian soil for nearly a week and this is the first we've heard of it?" "the press censor perhaps----" "cannot gag the mouths of a million, old chap. however, i hope it's true. of course i know an army cannot be expected to land and proceed straight to the front, but if they are to do anything they'll have to jolly well hurry up." "don't put a damper on the good news, old man." "all right, i won't, kenneth; but, until i see a khaki regiment on belgian soil, i'm hanged if i will believe. take me for a doubting thomas if you will. anyway, i'm going to turn in again; we've to be up early, you know." in spite of the deafening clamour without, the chums slept soundly until the concièrge knocked loudly at the door to announce that it was a quarter to five, and that the breakfast of messieurs les anglais was ready to be served as ordered. upon arriving at the place indicated in their order, the two dispatch-riders found that they were to be temporarily attached to the mail escort. letters and parcels for the troops in the field had accumulated during the last three days to enormous proportions. five large motor-cars had been requisitioned to take this mass of correspondence from the capital, the convoy being accompanied by a patrol of lancers, cyclists, and motor-cyclists. "wonder if there's anything for us in that lot?" hazarded kenneth, as four large wicker hampers addressed to the 9th regiment of the line were unceremoniously dumped into a car. the correspondence had already been passed by a belgian censor, and the baskets had been secured by an imposing wax seal. "perhaps," replied rollo. "at all events we'll keep a special eye on the car. one never knows where to expect the unwelcome attentions of those ubiquitous uhlans, and it will never do to let them pry into the family secrets of our comrades of the 9th." through the flag-bedecked streets of brussels the mail convoy made its way. the route, as supplied to the officer in command, was a circuitous one. proceeding in an almost southerly direction, past the villages of waterloo, genappe, and quatre bras, the mails for namur and the left flank of the belgian field army were to be detached at the village of sombreffe. the remainder of the convoy was then to proceed through gembloux to tirlemont, dropping the crates addressed to various regiments at the nearest points to their ultimate destinations. the motor-cars set out at a rapid pace, so much so that by the time they were clear of the forest of soignies, less than ten miles from the capital, the horses and the cyclists were almost "done up". either speed or the force at the disposal of the convoy had to be sacrificed, and after a hasty consultation with his subordinates, the officer in charge decided upon the latter alternative. accordingly the lancers were sent back, while a dozen of the cyclists were ordered to leave their machines at a wayside inn and to ride on the cars. from information received from various sources, there was every reason to believe that that part of the country was free from the attentions of the invaders, and no cause to doubt that the mail would be delivered in safety and with celerity. again the convoy was set in motion, kenneth and rollo riding at a distance of about two hundred yards ahead, for their wish to keep an eye on one particular car had been abruptly nipped in the bud. "we've seen the field of waterloo at all events," shouted rollo, in order to make himself heard above the noise of the motors. "but it's under different circumstances from those we expected." they had had but a distant and momentary glimpse of the famous pyramid of earth surmounted by the lion of belgium. the ground that, less than a century before, was drenched with the blood of men of half a dozen nationalities was again being prepared for a similar object on a vaster scale. belgian troops and peasants were busily engaged in digging trenches; for here, according to the expectations of military experts, was to be fought the decisive battle that was to save brussels and belgium from the teutonic invasion. at quatre bras the convoy struck the namur road. a couple of miles farther on kenneth's keen eyes detected a movement towards their left front. in double-quick time the lads dismounted and held up their hands, a signal that brought the convoy to a standstill. "cavalry, sir!" said kenneth, pointing in the direction of a clump of trees. "our vedettes, without doubt," declared the belgian officer, leisurely unstrapping his field-glasses. before he could get them to bear, kenneth was sweeping the country with his powerful binoculars. there was no mistake: the cavalry were uhlans. they had already spotted the convoy, and were advancing at the trot to capture or destroy the weakly-protected mail escort. just then came a dull rumble at some distance to the rear of the line of halted cars. the enemy had blown up the railway bridge on the line between charleroi and the north, thus cutting off the retreat of the convoy. "mon capitaine," exclaimed one of the cyclists who had been given a place in one of the cars; "i know this part of the country well. a kilometre farther on is a road to the right. it will bring us to ligny." the officer gave one glance towards the advancing uhlans, now barely a mile and a half away. "en avant!" he ordered. it was touch-and-go which would first reach the junction of the roads. only a momentary hesitation on the part of the uhlans saved the situation, for, seeing the convoy advance at full speed, they feared an attack by the already dreaded motor-cars armed with mitrailleuses. but as the convoy swung round the sharp corner a hail of bullets came from the carbines of the german cavalry; then, realizing that their discretion had got the better of their valour, the uhlans dashed in pursuit. the belgians cheered ironically. the idea of horses competing with motor-cars seemed absurd. the latter covered three yards to the uhlans' one, and every moment the animals were becoming more and more fatigued. suddenly rollo gave vent to a warning shout. ahead was the village of ligny, but between the convoy and the nearest houses were dense masses of cavalry. their capture seemed inevitable. again the motor-cars came to a halt. the belgian captain saw that he was in a trap. "turn about!" he ordered. "we must charge these prussians behind us. it will be easier to force our way through a hundred than----" "mon capitaine!" shouted an excited voice. the belgian officer turned, almost angrily. "we are saved--regardez!" continued the speaker, pointing to the railway line about three hundred yards to the right of the road. making their way along the hollow by the side of the line were swarms of men in blue coats, red trousers, and kepis. there was no mistaking them: they were french troops. the cavalry, too, close to the village of ligny were french chasseurs. the long-expected aid had become an accomplished fact. french armies were on belgian soil. already the uhlans had perceived their peril. they turned and rode for dear life. up came a group of french officers. gravely they exchanged salutes with the commander of the convoy. "we hope to effect a junction with the belgian army before nightfall, monsieur," announced a colonel. "we have been instructed to occupy the line ligny-tirlemont. it is to be hoped that these pigs of prussians have not tampered with the railway." "unfortunately they have, sir," replied the belgian captain. "already they have blown up a bridge on the quatre bras road." the frenchman rapped out an oath. "more work for our engineers," he remarked. "nevertheless, the prussians shall pay. we have them. with the english between antwerp and louvain, and your army between louvain and tirlemont, these germans are in front of a wall that cannot be climbed. you say that part of your convoy is destined for namur? send them on, monsieur. we hold both banks of the sambre. for the rest we cannot, unfortunately, offer you any guarantees." accordingly the convoy was split up, kenneth and rollo going with the cars containing the mails for the belgian troops at tirlemont. "the papers were right after all, old man," remarked kenneth. "our troops are in belgium. now, admit that your doubts were ill-founded." "i suppose so," admitted rollo; "but all the same i should like to see a khaki regiment, if only for the sake of ocular demonstration." before four that afternoon the mail for the 9th regiment of the line was safely delivered, and with the utmost dispatch the work of distribution began. it seemed a fitting reward that kenneth should receive half a dozen letters, three of which, bearing different dates, were from his father. rollo had to be content with four. while the latter, with his usual deliberation, opened his communications in the order of their postmarks, kenneth impetuously tore the envelope of his latest-dated one, and read as follows:-"dear kenneth, "i wrote you at the poste restante at liége, on the off-chance that you might receive it on the eve of the declaration of war. from the contents of your letter i have reason to believe that you did not. i am naturally most anxious concerning thelma. up to the time of writing i have had no tidings whatsoever, although i made enquiries of the british consuls at antwerp, rotterdam, and the hague. "in my previous letters addressed to you at the field post office of the 9th regiment of the line, i expressed my fullest approval of the step you have taken. in case you have not received my former letters i must repeat these sentiments. you are doing your duty to your country by serving under the belgian flag as faithfully as if you were under your own--for ours is a united cause. perhaps more so, since you are not yet of an age to accept a commission. should you be in need of funds, i have placed the sum of fifty pounds to your account in the credit belgique at brussels. "i am also sending you a batch of newspapers ["they have gone adrift," thought kenneth] which will be of interest to you. "i hear also that ... [here was a long excision by the censor.] "once more, good luck. do your duty manfully and fearlessly. regards to young barrington. i made a point of seeing his father the other day, and he is with me in my view of the step you two have taken. needless to say, my mediterranean trip is off. there is other work even for an old buffer such as i am. "your affectionate father, "thomas everest." "the pater's a brick," declared kenneth, after he had finished wading through his other correspondence; then, observing that rollo was still scanning his budget, he made his way across to the motor-cycles. in his excitement he had forgotten to turn off the petrol tap of his mount, and had just remembered the fact. on the way back he ran across major résimont, whom he had not seen since the night of the evacuation of liége. the major greeted him warmly, congratulated him upon gaining his stripes, and asked him how he had fared. "i have, unfortunately, bad news," said the major sadly. "it would be well to keep the information to yourself: the liége forts have fallen, and general leman is a prisoner." "i thought they could hold out for months," kenneth blurted out, his sense of discretion overcome by the suddenness of the news. "we all thought so," rejoined major résimont quietly. "but those huge german guns, they cracked the cupolas like nutshells, and killed or wounded every man in the forts." "the french are here, though," announced kenneth. "we came in touch with them this morning." "i know," said the belgian. "they have already succeeded in taking dinant. we have certain hopes in the french." "and the british troops are in belgium." the major shook his head. "see, sir," persisted kenneth, producing the copy of the paper he had purchased in brussels. "i have already seen it," said major résimont; "it is only a rumour. it is, moreover, false; there is not a single english regiment in belgium. your country is, i fear, too late to save brussels from the invaders." chapter xiii separated major résimont's sentiments were shared by the majority of his deep-thinking compatriots. the great faith in the prompt action of great britain in sending a strong expeditionary force to belgium had received a severe set-back. even yet the promised aid might be forthcoming--but it would be too late to spare the greater portion of the country, including the capital, from invasion. when the major stated that the belgians had "certain hopes" in the french, he spoke with a justifiable sense of caution. he realized that the object of throwing french troops into belgium was not to stay the threatened occupation of brussels, but to avoid, if possible, the disastrous results of the presence of a german army on french soil. in short, belgium was once more to be made the battle-ground between french and german troops, provided the fortresses on the borders of alsace-lorraine were strong enough to hold back the invaders in this quarter. unfortunately, in spite of the utmost efforts of the war office, backed by the whole-hearted support of a united parliament, great britain was just four days too late in the dispatch of her expeditionary force. yet the brave belgians did not repine, nor did they relax for one instant their opposition to the enormous and relentless masses of germans who were now pouring in through the strategic railways between aix-la-chapelle and liége. but the sacrifice of belgium was not in vain. by the heroic resistance of general leman the clockwork regularity of the german time-table had been thrown hopelessly out of gear. the stubborn defence of liége had delayed the teuton advance to such an extent that france and england were able to complete their respective mobilizations, and to thwart the german emperor's hopes of "rushing" paris and thus forcing france to conclude a humiliating and disastrous peace. "corporal everest!" "sir?" "you are to take this dispatch to major foveneau, who is holding the village of cortenaeken. your compatriot may accompany you. exercise particular care, for there are numerous uhlan patrols in the neighbourhood of diest." it was on the second day after the british dispatch-riders' return with the mail-escort. captain planchenoît, who had already fully recognized the intrepidity and common sense of the two lads, had been instructed by his colonel to communicate with the isolated post of cortenaeken, and he could decide upon no fitter messengers than kenneth everest and his friend rollo barrington. "you will observe that the dispatch is at present unsealed," continued captain planchenoît. "you must commit the text to memory. should you be in danger of capture, destroy the dispatch at all costs. it is far too important to risk being hidden, yet major foveneau must have, if humanly possible, written orders." "very good, sir," replied kenneth, saluting. he then went off to find his chum, whom he found cleaning his mount. kenneth had given up cleaning his motor-cycle days ago; beyond satisfying himself that it had plenty of oil and was in good running order, he troubled nothing about its appearance. both lads had, moreover, wrapped the handle-bars in strips of brown linen, while the remaining bright parts had been covered with dull-grey paint. "it's cortenaeken this time," announced kenneth. "goodness knows how we get to the place, for there doesn't seem to be a vestige of a road leading to it, according to the map. here's the dispatch--sounds important, doesn't it? we have to commit the words to memory, in case we have to destroy the paper." "the best thing we can do is to ride for tirlemont and make enquiries there," suggested rollo, handing the dispatch back to his chum. "as regards concealing the paper, we must place it somewhere where we can get at it easily. i have it: we'll stow it in your petrol tank; the stuff won't injure the paper or interfere with the writing, and if things came to the worst, you can whip it out and set fire to it." accordingly the dispatch, cleverly rolled, was placed inside the gauze strainer to the patrol tank, and the metal cap replaced. five minutes later the two motor-cyclists were buzzing along the congested road at a modest twenty miles an hour, dodging between the lumbering transport wagons and the military vehicles with an agility that surprised themselves. presently, as they struck towards the rear of the long lines of troops, the road became less encumbered and speed was materially increased. soon the pace reached nearly forty miles an hour, for the highway was fairly broad, and ran as straight as a roman road as far as the eye could reach. "puncture!" shouted kenneth, as the front wheel of his cycle began to slither and bump upon the _pavé_, the machine running nearly fifty yards before he brought up and dismounted. a hasty examination showed that a rusty iron nail, quite six inches in length, had penetrated the tread of the tyre, while to make matters worse its point had worked out close to the rim. the offending piece of metal, catching against the front forks, had already enlarged the hole in the tread till it became a slit nearly half an inch in length. "don't wait," he continued, as he unscrewed the cap of the petrol tank and produced the dispatch. "take this, and hurry on. i'll patch this up and follow. if you can, wait for me at cortenaeken till two o'clock." "right-o!" assented rollo. "you can manage all right?" "i can't ask you to bear a hand if i don't," replied kenneth. "i'll make a job of it somehow. good luck!" rollo was off. kenneth stood beside his crippled steed and watched his friend's receding figure out of sight; then taking out his repair outfit he began his task. it was a long job. the cover, being practically a new one, was an obstinate one to remove. it had to be patched with canvas, while the double puncture in the inner tube took a considerable time to clean and prepare. while he was waiting for the solution to get "tacky", a peculiar buzzing sound greeted his ears. "aeroplanes!" he muttered. "whose, i wonder?" he looked upwards. the sun shining in a cloudless sky dazzled his vision. he put on his tinted goggles, which during the repair operations he had removed. then he saw, perhaps three thousand feet above him, a large zeppelin moving in a westerly direction. he watched it with a sort of contemptuous interest. "the vaunted german terror of the air--perhaps!" he soliloquized. "i wouldn't give much for its chances if even half a dozen aeroplanes tackled it. ah! thinking better of it?" this last remark was uttered as the gigantic airship began to turn, pitching as it did so like a lively ship in a sea-way. bringing his binoculars to bear upon the zeppelin, kenneth watched its undignified progress. apparently it had encountered a strong air-current that tended to drive it in a westerly direction. by the aid of the glasses kenneth could see that the immense fabric showed, in spite of its supposed rigidity, a decided tendency to "whip" as it swung broadside on to the direction of the wind. then, steadying itself on a course in exactly the opposite direction to that which it had previously been following, the zeppelin forged ahead, still see-sawing ominously. suddenly the bow portion dipped, then with ever-increasing velocity the huge airship plunged earthwards. its propeller ceased to revolve; from the cars, ballast--not loose sand, but solid material--was thrown out in the hope of checking the now terrific descent. then it disappeared from the motor-cyclist's view, beyond a slight ridge of hills about five miles off. "that's done for it, thank goodness!" ejaculated kenneth, as he replaced his binoculars and reapplied himself to the repairs to the tyre; "if it were not for this rotten puncture i'd slip over and have a look at the remains. i hope the thing's fallen within the belgian lines. it will cheer the plucky beggars up a bit." it took him quite another half-hour to patch the torn canvas and coax the stubborn cover back into its rim. then, with a feeling of gratification that he had overcome difficulties, he began to inflate the tyre. "almost hard enough," he said to himself, ceasing his efforts to prod the rubber with his thumb. "i'll give it another dozen strokes just to show there's no ill-feeling." bang! with a report like the discharge of a small field-piece the tyre collapsed. a portion of the inner tube had been nipped, with the result that a gash four inches in length was demanding attention. "confound it!" exclaimed kenneth angrily. with the perspiration pouring off him, he again tackled the obstinate cover with savage energy. this time the repair was a complicated one. three times the patch failed to hold, but finally, at the end of an hour and a half's hard work, the tedious task was accomplished. at tirlemont kenneth made enquiries, and was given such minute directions that before he had gone another five miles he was hopelessly befogged. the roads were little better than narrow lanes; there were no direction posts, and he had long forgotten whether he had to take the first turning to the left and the third to the right, or the third to the left and the first to the right. there were several isolated cottages, but their inhabitants had fled. the whole district seemed depopulated, for the great exodus to brussels had begun. there was plenty of evidence of the hurried flight of the civil population. articles of domestic use, found to be too heavy to carry far, had been jettisoned by the roadside. here and there was an abandoned cart, still laden with the household goods of some unfortunate belgian family. at length kenneth found that the lane he was following came upon a small stream. here a bridge had recently been destroyed. further progress in that direction was impossible, unless he decided to abandon his cycle and swim across the fifteen feet of water to the opposite bank. following the stream was a rough path, badly cut up by the tracks of cattle. it was the only possible way unless he retraced his route. producing his military map kenneth attempted to fix his position. he could only come to the conclusion that the stream was the river velp, on which the hamlet of cortenaeken stands. he was, he decided, about ten miles from the village, which ought to be reached by following the path he had struck. it was bad going. the deep ruts made riding a nerve-racking ordeal. here and there the path had slipped bodily into the reed-grown mud that fringed the stream. dismounts were frequent; speed was out of the question. after a mile or so of this unsatisfactory mode of progression the path ended abruptly, but here the stream was crossed by a narrow plank bridge. on the opposite side, at about two hundred yards from the bank, was a cottage, and--thanks be!--from the chimney a wreath of faint blue smoke was rising. kenneth dismounted, set his motor-cycle on its stand, and proceeded to examine the apparently frail bridge. it sagged considerably under his weight; what would it do with the additional weight of his mount? in addition there was the transport problem. he could not carry the heavy cycle; the plank was too narrow for him to attempt to ride across. yet he did not feel at all inclined to go back along that rutty path. "i'll give a few toots on the horn," he declared. "perhaps the people in the house will come out and bear a hand. hullo! there's a punt over there in the rushes. with assistance i could get my bike across in that." the raucous blasts on the horn disturbed the quietude of the sylvan scene, but without the desired result. he tried again, still without success. "perhaps these people have also cleared out in a hurry and left a fire burning," he soliloquized. "otherwise they must have heard the explosions of the engine as i rode up. well, here goes!" crossing the stream he took his way to the spot where the punt was made fast. here, again, his hopes were dashed to the ground, for not only was the flat-bottomed craft chained and padlocked to a massive post, but it had a gaping hole at one end and was half-full of water. "it's only waste of time tramping across to that cottage," he said to himself. "i'll have a shot at getting the bike across first, and make enquiries later." with that he retraced his steps to where his cycle was standing on the wrong side of the tantalizing stream. throwing out the clutch and standing astride the saddle, kenneth walked his motor-cycle towards the plank bridge; then shuffling very cautiously, he began the hazardous crossing. at every step the soles of his boots were almost at the very edge of the worn plank. as he approached the centre it creaked ominously, while, to add to his difficulties, the motion of the water as it flowed underneath tended to make him giddy. he dared not look up unless he stopped, and that he was loath to do. one false step would send himself and his motor-cycle into six or seven feet of mud and water. at length, safe and sound, kenneth found himself on the farther bank. here a road, very little better than the one he had recently traversed, led away from the house, the only visible approach to which was by means of a stone stile and a footpath. again leaving his cycle, the lad leapt over the low wall and hastened towards the building. the door was wide open. across the threshold lay the body of an old man, with a ghastly wound in his head. kenneth recoiled in horror; then, thinking perhaps that the unfortunate farmer--for such he was--might still be living, he again approached. even in the attempt to move the man, he heard the sound of a heavy snore, while, as if in answer to the noise, a horse began to neigh. "germans!" ejaculated kenneth. once more he began to back, when, recollecting that even the sound of his motor had not disturbed the brutal slumberer, he drew his revolver and stepped across the threshold. coming in from the brilliant sunshine the place seemed almost pitch-dark, but in a few seconds the dispatch-rider's eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. he found himself in what was at one time the living-room of the farm. there was no hall or passage; the outer door opened straight into it. the whole place was in a state of almost indescribable confusion. the table had been overthrown, the chairs smashed--and smashed deliberately, for no ordinary struggle would have resulted in such complete demolition of the furniture. on the walls were a few cheap, highly-coloured prints, slashed by a keen instrument, while the glass was shattered to fragments. on the floor were the remains of broken bottles and crockery. the cupboards had been ransacked, and their contents hurled all over the room. even the hearthstone had been forced up; the despoilers had evidently thought that the thrifty farmer had hidden a store of money beneath it. the rest of the rooms on the ground floor were in a similar state of confusion. kenneth set his jaw tightly. he no longer had any inclination to beat a retreat. the sight of the foully-murdered belgian and his devastated home filled him with rage. holding his revolver ready for instant action, the lad began to ascend the stairs. they creaked horribly under his weight, but still the sounds of drunken slumber continued. at the head of the stairs four rooms opened on to a fairly spacious landing. three of these were unoccupied by any living creature. in one was a huddled-up form. "brutes!" muttered the british lad. "no quarter!" he pushed open the door of the remaining bedroom, whence the porcine grunts proceeded. here were four men in the uniform of the dreaded uhlans. three, fully dressed and wearing their heavy boots, were sprawling in drunken slumber on the bed. they were nursing partly-consumed wine bottles, while the bed-clothes and floor were stained with the spilt liquid. the fourth uhlan was sitting in a chair, with his head resting on his chest. across his forehead and over both ears was a blood-stained bandage. the wound had but recently been inflicted, so the belgian farmer had apparently made a brave but unavailing stand in defence of his home. on the floor by the uhlan's side lay his sword; his carbine was propped up against the arm of the chair. "the brutes!" ejaculated kenneth again. "hang it, i can't shoot these fellows while they are asleep!" just at that moment the wounded uhlan opened his eyes and raised his head. his brain had not been dulled by drink, for with a swift movement he seized his carbine, at the same time shouting to his comrades that the belgians were upon them. chapter xiv a friend in need "seems a bit low-down, but there was no other way as far as i could see," commented kenneth as he made his way down the stairs. it was a relief to get into the open air once more. inserting four fresh cartridges into the chambers of his revolver, he replaced the weapon in his holster, and without giving another glance at the house of death and destruction he made his way to the stables, where the uhlans' horses were tethered. he would not leave the helpless brutes to be fastened up perhaps for days. they would at least have a chance to eat and drink, for there was plenty of pasture and the river was handy. having given the animals their liberty, the lad remounted his cycle and rode along the only possible route. by the position of the sun he knew that he was going nearly due north, which was not in the direction he supposed cortenaeken to be. to add to the difficulties of the situation there was the unpleasant fact that patrols of german cavalry were already in the district. where, then, was the belgian force that was supposed to be holding the district between diest and tirlemont? there were houses scattered about in plenty; some to all outward appearance intact, others either burning furiously or reduced to four smoke-blackened walls. after traversing about five miles of the indifferent lane, kenneth found himself on a broad highway, bordered on both sides with trees. here were civilians in throngs--men, women, and children--and a more woebegone crowd the british lad had never before beheld. most of them were on foot, staggering under weighty bundles. even the children had their burdens, mostly domestic pets. there were fowls in crates, rabbits, cats, and pigeons; masterless dogs tore frantically through the sad procession; others, harnessed to small carts piled high with goods and chattels, trotted docilely by the side of their masters. there were large farm-carts, too, creaking under the weight of furniture, on the top of which were perched refugees either too old or too young to make the journey afoot. the men were stolid of feature, but several of the women were crying; while with few exceptions the children, unable to comprehend the real nature of their hurried exodus, were laughing and chattering with excitement at their novel experience. kenneth dismounted and stopped an old belgian, who by his dress had evidently been well-to-do. "can you direct me to cortenaeken, monsieur?" "to where cortenaeken was," corrected the man. "it has been burnt by the accursed prussians." "and the troops? i have a message for major foveneau, who was holding the village----" "you will not find a single belgian there, monsieur--at least, not a living one. they have been compelled to retire on louvain." the belgian courteously raised his hat and passed on hurriedly, for while he was speaking came the distant intermittent reports of rifle-firing. the whole procession of refugees quickened its pace. the menace was too close to be ignored. kenneth pulled out his map. he was now able to form a fairly accurate idea of where he was. he had no desire to return. his anxiety concerning his chum urged him to make his way as quickly as possible to louvain. there, at least, he might be able to gain information concerning the british dispatch-rider who ought to have reported himself to major foveneau. according to the map, kenneth saw that there was a road to the left at a mile or so from where he stood. it struck the village of winghe st. georges, which was on the main road between diest and tirlemont and slightly nearer to the latter town. springing into the saddle kenneth set off at a furious pace. ahead, but slightly to the right, was a dense column of smoke that marked the site of the destroyed village of cortenaeken. farther away were more pillars of black vapour, the handiwork of the vengeful invaders, whose principle was to terrorize the luckless belgians into a spirit of non-resistance. the lad was heartily glad when he gained the branch road, since it led away from the desolated area. but before he had gone very far he became aware that he was crossing the tracks of a fighting force in retreat. over the fields on either side and across the road were numerous deep ruts caused by wheels of artillery and service wagons. here and there were abandoned carts, while half-buried in a muddy ditch was a field-piece with one wheel shattered. its limber and several either dead or wounded horses still in the traces had overturned on the other side of the road. yet, apart from the distant cannonade, there were no sounds of actual combat. kenneth was sorely tempted to follow the tracks of the retirement. it would be hard going, he argued, but where a gun could go his motor-cycle ought to be able to follow. but on further consideration he decided to keep to the road, at least as far as winghe st. georges. onwards he rode till he approached a ruined homestead. four shattered walls, two gaunt gables, and a few scorched rafters were all that remained of the house. surrounding it was a wall, broken in many places. abutting on the wall were several roofless sheds. "halte-là!" exclaimed a voice. "there is danger ahead." kenneth pulled up sharply and, dismounting, looked in the direction from which the voice came. as he did so a man in the uniform of the belgian lancers came out of the ruined house. he had lost his helmet, his coat was torn and covered with dust. above his right knee was a blood-stained bandage. he was supporting himself by means of a rifle, using the weapon as a crutch with the butt under his armpit. "what has happened, comrade?" asked the lad. the soldier regarded him with evident suspicion. "you are not a belgian," he said pointedly, "yet you are in the uniform of our dispatch-riders." "quite so," replied kenneth, producing his identification card. "i am a british subject in the belgian service." "british?" repeated the man. "what, then, is british? in faith, i do not know." "english, then." "ah, english--good! now i comprehend. but, monsieur, it is unsafe to go farther. there are germans in force a few kilometres along the road. their cavalry screens are thrown out over yonder. we had to retire. to me it is amazing how you came so far without falling in with the accursed prussians." "i saw a few uhlans," announced kenneth. "tête bleu! and what did they do?" "very little as far as i was concerned," replied the lad. "they murdered some civilians, so i shot them." the belgian's eyes glistened. "you are a brave youth," he exclaimed. "i think not in this case," objected kenneth. "they were half-drunk, and had only just awoke. it seemed hardly fair play, yet----" "do not apologize, monsieur," growled the lancer. "after what these devils have done they have no right to expect any consideration. over there, for example--but come within. it is hazardous to remain in the open. perhaps, even now, we have been observed through some prussian field-glasses. your bicycle? it will be of no further use. it is better to destroy it and throw the remains into the ditch." kenneth shook his head. "no fear," he objected resolutely. "i'd rather take my chances on the road." "impossible," declared the belgian. "you would be shot before you went another three kilometres. and if the germans see your motor-cycle they will be doubly suspicious and search the house." "i'll leave it for the time being in one of those sheds," suggested the lad. "it won't be seen from the road." the belgian, beyond muttering "imbecile" under his breath, made no further objection. he even assisted kenneth, as well as his wound would permit, to lift the heavy mount over the rubble in the gap of the outer wall. "this place will do," declared the lad as he reached the furthermost shed. the roof and one angle of the brickwork had been demolished, but the rest of the building was almost intact. having removed the sparking-plug, so as to render the cycle useless to the enemy in the event of its discovery, kenneth placed the cycle on its side and covered it with a thick layer of damp and rotten straw. to all appearance the interior of the shed was a farm refuse-heap. no prowling german would be likely to want to use the straw for bedding or any other purpose. "come this way," said the belgian, who, during the progress of kenneth's operations, had begun to alter his opinion as to the danger of leaving the cycle as "incriminating evidence". "we will go to the house. in the cellar we can rest and perhaps have food. have you anything to eat?" "two rolls and some chocolate," replied kenneth. "we will share that." "good!" exclaimed the lancer, his eyes glistening at the prospect of food. "but there are others--three comrades of mine. we have not eaten anything to-day but raw turnips, and raw turnips are not very sustaining food on which to make a cavalry charge. it was in front of cortenaeken that i got this," and he pointed to his wounded leg. "yet it is nothing," he added lightly, "a mere scratch; but i repaid the prussian who gave it to me. ah! this is what i require. i will now be able to discard this rifle. my own carbine is within." he had stopped in the midst of his narrative, and was pointing to a hay-rake that rested in a corner of the wall. "i will knock off the teeth and shorten the handle. ciel! it will make an excellent crutch. as for the rifle, i may safely throw it down the well, unless you, monsieur, might care to have it. it may be useful to you." "i have no cartridges." "we have enough--about four hundred between the four of us. nevertheless, you will have to clean the barrel carefully, for it is caked with earth. if you fired it in that state, without doubt it would do you more harm than the man at whom you pointed it. there, did i not say so?" with a wave of his disengaged arm the belgian indicated a cloud of dust rising from the road. "we must hasten, yet be cautious," he continued. "that dust hides a column of german infantry." kenneth followed his new comrade into the house. the upper floor had almost disappeared. the ground floor was littered with charred fragments of rafters and boards, cakes of plaster and partly-burned thatch, in addition to broken articles of furniture. the parting-walls had been overthrown, so that the interior of the building presented the appearance of an open space. scrambling over the debris the wounded lancer made his way to a corner of the tottering walls. he stooped painfully and with considerable effort, and thrusting his fingers between the rubbish took hold of an iron ring. at this he heaved, and lifted a large flap about six inches. "assist me, monsieur," he said. "i am not quite so strong as i was four hours ago." "one minute," exclaimed kenneth. "i'll clear some of this rubbish away." "tiens!" ejaculated the belgian. "let it remain, for when we let the flap fall it will spread and hide the cracks in the floor. no one will then suspect that there is a cellar. now, lift together.--soyez tranquille!" he shouted, to reassure his comrades in hiding. at a gesture from his newly-found friend, kenneth descended the steep wooden ladder till his feet touched the stone floor of the cellar. the belgian lancer followed more slowly, uttering maledictions under his breath at every step. another of the occupants of the cellar ascended, and pulled the flap down with a resounding crash. the place seemed in total darkness. "a new comrade--an englishman in the service of our country," announced the lancer; and kenneth's hands were warmly grasped by his unseen hosts. after a while his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-gloom, for the daylight filtered through a small irregular opening at one end of the underground room. the belgians present did not belong to the same regiment. one was a corporal of infantry, another an artilleryman, the third a civil guard, whose head-gear, somewhat resembling a bowler hat, made him easily recognizable. their rifles were resting against the wall, their cartridge pouches and heavy packs had been thrown on the floor, and by their sides were some partly-consumed slices of turnip. kenneth promptly shared his rations, which were ravenously eaten by the half-famished men. the corporal, having swallowed his portion of roll and chocolate, took up his position at the opening through which the daylight could be seen. "they come!" he announced. "the pigs! look!" the rest of the men made their way to the post of observation. the cellar was of brick, with massive oaken rafters overhead and a stone floor. at one end was a flight of stone steps that at one time communicated with the outside of the house. a fall of brick-work had almost entirely closed this exit, leaving a space about two inches in height and a little more than a foot in width between the top of the debris and the underside of the arch. the aperture was thus broad enough to afford an outlook for two persons without the faintest risk of discovery. the corporal, as observation man, remained at his post, the others taking turn to gaze upon the approaching regiment of their hated foes. the german troops had evidently gone through a rough experience. they looked utterly done up. most of them were in their shirt-sleeves, their coats and accoutrements hanging from their rifles. several were without caps, and many had been wounded. in spite of the sweltering heat they marched in close column, wellnigh choked with dust, and only kept at a brisk pace by the unsympathetic orders and threats of their officers. as the head of the column approached, several men were ordered to double up to the ruined house. already the german commander had good reason to dread the fury of the belgian civil population, and every house on the line of march was searched for possible snipers before the regiment was allowed to march past it. kenneth could hear the prussians' boots crunching on the rubble overhead, and their guttural shouts as they reported that the building was untenanted. then the column was again set in motion, and as the troops marched stolidly by, kenneth saw that in their midst were about twenty peasants of both sexes. the belgian corporal rapped out an oath. "the cowards!" he hissed. "they will use these people--countrymen--to screen their advance. they did so at haelen and landen. i would gladly bring down that red-faced colonel but for the fact that those peasants would be instantly massacred." reluctantly the man closed the safety-catch of his rifle. the impulse to shoot had been tantalizing. only his concern for his luckless fellow-countrymen had prevented the belgian from sending a bullet through the prussian officer's heart. ignorant of his escape the colonel rode past, followed by the rest of the regiment, for, from motives of extraordinary caution, he was in the centre of the column. another and yet another grey-clad regiment tramped past. with feelings akin to consternation, kenneth realized that a considerable portion of the german army was now between him and his regiment. and rollo--what had become of him? several hours passed. the belgians, unable to control their natural vivacity, chattered gaily, relating their individual adventures, and closely questioning kenneth as to his views on british aid for the sorely-harassed country. occasionally, when their look-out reported fresh troops in sight, they would relapse into silence. the artilleryman jotted down in a pocket-book particulars and estimated numbers of all the german regiments that passed along the road, remarking that to-morrow, perhaps, the information might be useful to his officers. about five in the afternoon the stream slackened, and half an hour later there were no signs of the invaders. the belgians discussed the possibility of making a dash for their own lines, and eventually decided to attempt to put their plan into execution shortly after midnight. even the wounded lancer expressed his confidence in his ability to keep up with his comrades. "and will you accompany us?" he asked, addressing his british comrade. "there's my motor-cycle," said kenneth tentatively. "pouf! it is of no consequence. let it remain; there are others to be obtained. it is useless to attempt to take it with you. the roads are unsafe, while in the open the ditches are too wide to take it across." still kenneth hesitated. he had no doubt that the belgian spoke truthfully, and that he could obtain another mount at head-quarters; but it would not be the same cycle, to which he was greatly attached. while the wounded lancer was still endeavouring to persuade kenneth to make the attempt on foot, the corporal, from the post of observation, reported that a patrol of uhlans was approaching. "there are but seven," he announced, "and they have a prisoner with them. shall we----?" and he significantly tapped his rifle. after a short interval one of the belgians stood aside to allow kenneth to look at the approaching patrol. they were riding their horses at a walking pace, their long lances being stepped in "buckets" behind their backs. most of them were smoking large curved pipes. suddenly kenneth uttered a half-stifled shout of surprise, for the prisoner was his chum, rollo barrington. chapter xv captured on parting with his comrade on the road to cortenaeken, rollo rode at a great pace towards his goal. he was to a certain extent fortunate in finding people at the various branch roads to give him directions; and in less than an hour from the time of parting company with kenneth he was in sight of the hamlet where he hoped to meet major foveneau. the place seemed deserted. perhaps, he thought, the belgian troops were entrenched on the other side of the slightly rising ground. at a great distance off he could hear the rumble of guns in action. evidently there were two separate battles in progress. from the direction of one cannonade it seemed as if the rival forces were engaged in the district through which he had so recently ridden, yet he could have sworn that he had not seen either a single belgian or german soldier. suddenly, as he glanced to the left, rollo's heart gave a tremendous thump. he had already ridden more than half-way past the rear of a masked german battery. there were perhaps a dozen guns placed in position behind a ridge. the weapons were trained for high-angle firing, while, to render them invisible from belgian aircraft, they were screened by branches of trees. by the side of each field-piece was an armoured ammunition cart. the body of the vehicle was upturned to a perpendicular position, the shells being kept in place by a "pigeon-hole" arrangement. the gunners were "standing easy", while, from the tip of a neighbouring haystack, a number of officers were observing the belgian position through their field-glasses. hearing the sound of the motor-cycle, several of the men turned and looked at the dispatch-rider, but they made no attempt to stop him. evidently they thought he was one of their cyclists, for rollo's uniform was smothered in grey dust, so that there was no perceptible difference between him and a motor-cyclist attached to the invading army. fortunately rollo kept his head. without slackening his speed he continued on his way until he was within two hundred yards of the nearest house in the village. here he dismounted and began to rack his brains as to the best course to pursue. he had fallen into a trap. cortenaeken had been taken and was now in the possession of the enemy. he could see that several of the buildings were damaged by shell-fire. unknown to himself he had ridden through the advanced german lines without any suspicion that thousands of men were concealed in the fields and thickets on either side of the road. the german left flank had been thrown forward a considerable distance, and their motor-scouts had been constantly in touch with the centre. thus, by a pure fluke, rollo had ridden through with a german motor-cyclist ten minutes ahead of him and another five minutes behind. "i'll destroy the dispatch at once," decided the lad. "after that i'll try and ride back by the way i came. so here goes!" he drew the petrol-soaked paper from the tank, and carried it to a dry ditch by the side of the road. the dispatch flared as soon as rollo struck a match and set light to it. its destruction was rapid and complete. before he could regain his mount a motor-cyclist dashed up. as he approached he slackened speed, gripped the exhaust-lifter, and took advantage of the consequent reduction of sound to shout something in german. rollo shook his head; his knowledge of german was too elementary for him to reply, but he gathered that the man was asking whether he required any assistance. then, to the lad's consternation, the german dispatch-rider stopped, dismounted, and walked towards him. "there's only one thing i can do---i must pretend i'm deaf and dumb--temporary effect of the concussion of a shell, although i can't show a wound," thought rollo. "it wouldn't be cricket to shoot the chap, especially as he stopped in all good faith. well, here goes!" opening his mouth and working his chin like a gasping cod-fish, the lad awaited with considerable misgivings the result of his experiment. the german was a round-faced, fair-haired fellow of about twenty--a student fresh from college. he looked quite sympathetic, and when rollo explained by means of signs that there was something wrong with the electric ignition of his cycle, his face lighted up. strolling up to the british lad's mount, he proceeded in quite a natural way to examine the sparking-plug, and, for the benefit of the supposed distressed rider, he made a pantomimic display of rubbing it with emery-cloth. this done, he walked across to the spot where he had left his own cycle, still holding the plug in his hand. "he's going to clean the blessed thing for me," thought rollo, "and it's in perfect order, too." but the next moment his amusement was changed to consternation, for, leaping into his saddle, the german made off at full speed, leaving rollo with a motor-cycle that was now out of action with a vengeance. rollo was not left long in doubt as to the fellow's intentions. soon he reappeared from the village accompanied by a patrol of uhlans. the british-made motor-cycle had aroused his suspicions, and a closer inspection of rollo's dust-covered uniform had confirmed them. "the brute!" ejaculated rollo. "at all events those fellows won't make use of my cycle." with a quick movement he unscrewed the cap of the petrol tank, and threw his highly-prized mount on its side. then, striking a match and deliberately waiting till it was well alight, he threw it into the escaping spirit. with a flash and a roar the petrol caught, and in an instant the cycle was enveloped in flames. rollo did not wait to see the end of his act of destruction. taking to his heels he ran towards a wood about a couple of furlongs from the road. the hoarse shouts of the pursuing uhlans rang in his ears as he fled, while a bullet, missing him handsomely, whizzed ten feet above his head. another shot followed with no better result. it was not the rifles of the pursuing horsemen that he feared; it was their obvious superiority in speed. he could hear the thud of the horses' hoofs in the soft ground growing momentarily louder and louder. only twenty yards more, and the uhlans would be balked by the dense foliage. ahead was a ditch, six feet in width, with a fairly high bank on the opposite side. in his heated imagination the fugitive could almost feel the points of those ugly lances thrust into his back. with a stupendous effort he leapt, alighting on the other side of the ditch on his hands and knees. the germans, fearing to risk the jump, began to rein in their horses. for the time being he had won. rollo staggered to his feet and clambered up the bank, when to his horror he found himself confronted by a dozen levelled rifles. it was a case of "out of the frying-pan into the fire" with a vengeance. had there been a ghost of a chance to break away rollo would have seized it, but there was none. he raised both hands above his head. the next instant he was held by two powerful soldiers, while others, with a dexterity acquired by much practice, searched him. not only was he stripped, and the lining of his coat ripped open, but his boots were removed and the soles cut through, in case a hidden dispatch might be found. they even forced open his mouth to make certain he was not swallowing any document; and they took good care to retain the letters he had received from home. finding nothing of the nature they suspected, the sergeant in charge of the men gruffly ordered him in very imperfect french to dress. then, escorted by four men, and followed by the patrol of uhlans and the motor-cyclist who had raised the alarm, rollo was taken into the village and brought before a group of officers. "ah, englishman! we have caught you, then," exclaimed one of the prussian officers. rollo looked straight at him. the german was in the uniform of the line. his head was swathed in surgical bandages, but there was enough of his face left exposed to give the british lad a clue to the identity of the speaker. he was the major who had treacherously attempted to shoot the belgian officer by whom he had been given quarter, on the occasion of the night attack upon fort de barchon. on the fall of the liége fortresses the prussian had been released by his comrades, and in spite of his wound was once more at the front. for the next ten minutes rollo was closely questioned. he replied only when he felt fairly certain that there was no harm in so doing; but, when pressed to give information respecting the belgian forces, he resolutely refused. the german officers swore, and threatened him. "you cannot make me disclose information," declared rollo. "it is against the rules of war to coerce a prisoner." a chorus of loud jeering laughter greeted this statement. "my young friend," quoth the major when the mirth had subsided, "you do not understand. when germany makes war she makes war: there are no half-measures. why should we, the greatest nation upon earth, be bound by rules and regulations laid down by a self-constituted peace party--the geneva convention?" "but germany was a party to it." "because at the time it suited her purpose. it is no use arguing, young englishman. the point is, do you answer all our questions, or must we exercise pressure? bear in mind that if you give false information, which we are certain to find out, you will be shot." rollo felt far from comfortable. his faith in the traditions of war, in which he had been versed by his father, was ruthlessly destroyed by the cold-blooded declaration of his captor. it was as well that he was given to pondering rather than to forming a hasty and impulsive resolution, otherwise he might have told the german major to do his worst. under similar circumstances the impetuous kenneth might have sealed his own death-warrant; but rollo remembered that a still tongue makes a wise head. fortunately at this juncture an orderly knocked at the door. in response to an ungracious permission to enter he strode stiffly into the room, clicked his heels, and saluted. "what is it?" demanded the major. the soldier handed his officer a sealed dispatch. the german broke the flap of the envelope with a violent movement of his thick fingers. it was characteristic of him and his profession: the use of brute force, even when dealing with the frailest thing that balked him. his brows darkened. with an oath he tossed the document to his brother officers. they, too, swore. the news was not at all reassuring. "sergeant!" roared the major. "tell one of your men to have the swiftest motor-car he can find brought here at once. those belgian brutes have been causing trouble near tirlemont. then pick out a reliable patrol to escort this prisoner to tirlemont, where i will deal with him in due course." the sergeant saluted, and ran as hard as he could to execute his superior's commands. rollo was removed in charge of the guards, until the arrival of the uhlans detailed to act as his escort. then, having made arrangements with his brother officers for the hurrying up of the regiment to repel the new phase of the belgian offensive, the major entered the waiting car and was whirled off along the tirlemont road. rollo smiled grimly as he noted the numbers of the uhlan escort. "seven of them: they are not going to take much risk of my giving them the slip," he thought. "all the same i'll keep my eyes well open, and if there is the faintest possible chance i'll take it. anything is better than being threatened by that brute of a prussian major. i wish i had knocked him over the head that night." after traversing about two miles of the road the uhlans relaxed their vigilance. no longer did they carry their lances across the saddle-bow, ready to transfix their prisoner at the first sign of trouble. out came their pipes, and, under the soothing influence of the tobacco, the uhlans attempted a conversation in broken french with their youthful charge. it was not a pleasant subject, for, with grim vividness, they impressed upon the lad the fact that they had already seen more than twenty summary executions, and judging by the manner in which the prisoners met their fate, the process was sharp and practically painless. but they could not understand why herr major had gone to the trouble to have the prisoner sent after him to tirlemont, instead of having him put out of the way without further delay. a mounted scout came galloping along the dusty road. the corporal in charge of the uhlans stopped him to ask whether there were any belgian troops in the district. receiving a negative reply, the uhlan grunted that it was just as well, as he had no desire to be shot at by those troublesome rascals. "it is as safe as in the unter den linden," added the scout. "there is not an armed belgian within ten miles of you. our 43rd and 62nd line regiments have just gone forward. you might almost see the rear-guard; so keep up a brave heart, comrade." the corporal growled at this joking advice, yet in his own mind he felt greatly relieved. after all there was no hurry to reach tirlemont. if the patrol arrived before sunset, it was more than likely they would be ordered to perform another and more hazardous service. "we'll halt at that farm-house," he said to his men. "there may be something worth finding. two of you will be sufficient to keep an eye on the prisoner. he doesn't seem as if he will give trouble." chapter xvi entombed "ciel! what has hit you?" asked the belgian corporal, regarding kenneth with evident alarm. "i am all right," replied the lad; "but those uhlans have captured my friend--the english motor-cyclist i told you about." "get your rifles, comrades," ordered the corporal. "louis, since you are wounded, remain at this loop-hole." the lancer, struggling into his cartridge-belt, made his way to the observation post; while kenneth and the rest of the belgians pushed back the trap-door and took cover on the ground floor of the partly-demolished house. there was plenty of time, for the uhlans were proceeding at a leisurely pace. "it is safe to fire," continued the corporal, having satisfied himself on all sides that there were no other german troops within sight. "i will take the leading bosche on the right; gaston, the one by his side will make a broad mark, since you are not a first-class shot. you, étienne, cover the uhlans on the prisoner's left; and you, monsieur, try your luck on that fellow in the rear. the rest we must polish off with the second round: none must escape, or we are undone. now, monsieur, when i give the word, shout to your friend and tell him to fall to the ground. even a hulking german will not stop a bullet, and i am sure your friend would not like a second-hand piece of lead." slowly the seconds seemed to pass. the belgians, with their rifles resting on the broken brickwork and their fingers lightly touching their sensitive triggers, were ready for their prey. admirably concealed, they were still further favoured by the light, for the setting sun shone full in the faces of the unsuspecting uhlans. "now, monsieur!" hissed the corporal. "rollo!" shouted kenneth. "lie down!" for once, at least, rollo acted promptly. he threw himself on the road so swiftly that the horse of the uhlan behind him reared. the german corporal, although he could not understand what was said, suspected the truth. a word of command was on his lips, when he tumbled from the saddle with a bullet through his brain. two more germans shared the fate of their non-commissioned officer; but the fellow at whom gaston had aimed came off lightly, with a neatly-drilled hole through his bridle-arm. two more, dismounting and taking cover behind their horses, attempted to use their carbines; while the seventh, seized with a panic, wheeled, and galloped as hard as he could from the scene. again the belgian rifles rang out. the fugitive horse stumbled and fell, throwing its rider with a sickening thud upon the hard road. from the semi-underground retreat the belgian corporal's rifle flashed, and one of the dismounted uhlans dropped, while his horse, wounded in the neck by the same bullet that had killed his master, reared, and plunged upon rollo as he lay upon the ground. the other dismounted german, seeing the fate of his comrades, attempted to remount, but he too fell, shot through the heart. in the midst of the confusion the wounded uhlan set spurs to his steed and, bending over the animal's neck, tore down the road. "drop him: if he gets away we are as good as done for!" shouted the belgian corporal. shot after shot whistled after the fugitive. once he was seen to give a spasmodic movement and then again to drop over the horse's neck. still the terrified animal tore onwards, and at length was out of sight. "quel dommage!" ejaculated the corporal. "the rascal has got away." "he'll drop. i'll swear that he was badly hit," said étienne, the artilleryman. "we are not to know that," grumbled the corporal; "at least, not at present. quick, there! we must remove all traces of the affair, and trust to luck that the fellow will be able to tell no tales." resting their rifles against the wall, kenneth and his belgian comrades ran into the road. they found rollo little the worse for his experiences, beyond a bruised ankle caused by a kick from the struggling horse. "congratulations after. work first," exclaimed the corporal. "together, comrades!" the corpses of the uhlans and their horses were dragged across the highway and thrown into the broad ditch, where in the now gathering twilight they would escape observation, while dust was thrown upon the traces of the encounter. "now to the cellar!" exclaimed the corporal. "nevertheless, i will remain without for a time. i am not at all satisfied. the escape of that wounded uhlan troubles me, so i will keep watch from without." "he received his quietus, never fear," declared gaston. "he will tell no tales." "if your opinion is not more true than your aim--" began the corporal meaningly. "but we must hope that it is so. all the same i will keep watch." the rest of his comrades regained their underground retreat, leaving the trap-door open in order that the corporal could descend without delay. rollo was this time the centre of attraction, and the rescued lad had to give a long and detailed account of his adventures in the hands of the germans. "your foot is hurting you," observed kenneth, noticing that rollo was wincing towards the close of his narrative. "take off your boot and let me see what is wrong." examination showed that rollo's leg was badly bruised from the ankle to the knee; in addition there were slight abrasions. "it's lucky you didn't get a direct kick from that horse," continued kenneth. "i'll bring some water and bathe it. i'm sorry we haven't any first-aid stuff with us." with that kenneth reascended the ladder, and made his way to a well that was situated about ten paces from where the back door of the house used to be. it was now nearly dark. the belgian keeping his solitary vigil was hardly visible in the gloom. the lad raised the heavy iron bucket, emptied about half the contents away, and was about to return to the cellar when the corporal gripped him by the shoulders. "regardez bien!" he whispered, pointing along the road that led to cortenaeken. "german cavalry!" exclaimed kenneth. "would that it were!" said the belgian. "then we might see some fun. they are artillery. ten thousand plagues on the clumsiness of gaston! by missing that fellow, he allowed him to bring this hornets' nest about our ears. to the cellar! we cannot fight, we must hide and trust to luck." quickly the cellar-flap was shut, and in total darkness the six men waited for the opening of the german guns. an appalling crash, followed by the rumbling of fallen bricks, announced that the first shell had hit the building. mortar dropped from the arched roof of their underground retreat. the belgians chuckled. "let the rascals waste their shells," declared étienne. "they will want them badly before the war is over." "did you bring the water?" asked rollo. "rather! i am not such an ass as to forget about you, old man," replied kenneth. "can you limp as far as the end of the cellar? there's a bench or something of the kind. it will be better than sitting on the cold stones." carefully and deliberately kenneth bathed his chum's injured leg, while without the deafening crashes continued at rapid intervals. "there can't be much of the house left," observed rollo. "it wasn't much of a show when i first saw it. by the by, where is your bike?" "under some damp straw in an outhouse. it ought to be well out of the bursting area of those shells. at any rate----" a vivid flash of light filled the cellar. there was a terrific roar, followed by an avalanche of bricks and stones. kenneth, who was kneeling by his chum, was thrown violently against rollo, and the two, deafened by the concussion, found themselves gasping for breath amid the sulphurous fumes that wafted around them. a shell, crashing through the cellar-flap, had burst in the underground refuge. the luckless belgians were literally blown to atoms. kenneth and rollo had escaped almost by a miracle, only to be confronted by a new danger. they were buried alive, and in peril of suffocation from the noxious gases of the burst projectile. kenneth staggered to his feet. his head came in contact with an immense slab of stone. he stretched out his arms, to find that his hands touched a shaking mass of brickwork on both sides. "we're trapped!" he whispered. "if those brutes fire again, the rest of the cellar will cave in on top of us i wonder how the other fellows got on." he called the belgians by name, at first softly, then gradually raising his voice, but no reply came through the intervening barrier of debris. the firing had now ceased. the last shell--the most destructive of all--had reduced the farm-house to a heap of ruins. above ground, hardly one brick or stone adhered to another, while beneath the mound of ruins the two british lads were entombed, and apparently doomed to a lingering death. chapter xvii the way out for nearly a quarter of an hour, though it seemed like a long-drawn night, kenneth and rollo remained silent. gradually the air became purer as the fumes escaped through the crevices in the brickwork. it was the darkness they dreaded most--a darkness that could almost be felt. it seemed to have weight, to press upon their eyes. "i wish i had a match," whispered kenneth. rollo felt in his pockets. it was, as he expected, a vain quest, for when in the hands of the germans he had been rigorously searched, and every article in his possession had been confiscated. "this is the limit," said kenneth dolorously. "i'd much rather be shot in action. here we may be snuffed out and no one will be a bit the wiser. we may not be found for years, perhaps never." "oh, shut up!" exclaimed his companion. "it's bad enough without rubbing it in." "i wasn't." "yes, you were; but, i say, don't let us start quarrelling. the question is----" "hist!" whispered kenneth. "i hear voices." the lad was right. almost above their heads heavy boots were stumbling over the debris, while the muffled sounds of guttural voices were borne to the ears of the two prisoners. the germans were searching the ruins. "i vote we shout. they'll dig us out," suggested kenneth. "i vote we don't," objected rollo sturdily. "see, the gleam of a lantern is showing through a crack or a hole in the brickwork, so it can't be so very thick. we may be able to tunnel our way out when they clear off. if we gave ourselves up, ten to one they would shoot us for giving them all this trouble." it was that small glimmer of light that raised their hopes, without which they would, through sheer panic, have called frantically to their foes for aid, without considering the consequences. for perhaps an hour the germans continued their search, until, discovering the passage of the final and fatal shell, they removed sufficient of the debris to enable them to descend to the cellar. the entombment of the two lads now proved to be a blessing in disguise, for, screened from observation by the mound of rubble, their retreat was unsuspected by the searchers. having found sufficient evidence to satisfy themselves that the belgians who had ambushed the uhlan patrol were themselves slain, the germans concluded their investigations and went away. for another long period the lads remained silent, until they felt convinced that once more they were free from the unwelcome attentions of the german troops. then rollo broke the silence. "i'm jolly thirsty," he remarked. "so am i," declared kenneth. "there's some water in the bucket. we needn't be too particular. i dipped my handkerchief in it, but it was fairly clean." "i'm ready to mop water out of a ditch," said rollo. kenneth groped for the bucket. it was within six inches of his foot and standing upright, but it was empty. a fragment of shell had torn a hole through it close to the bottom. not a drop of liquid was left. "we've had a jolly narrow squeak," said kenneth. "after that it would be hard lines if we were knocked out in the last lap. i don't think we shall be. suppose we start tunnelling." "steady on, old man! we ought to wait till it gets light. then we will be able to see what we are doing," expostulated his companion. "i can feel." "yes, perhaps; but by dislodging part of the rubble you may cause a sort of landslide and bury us completely. i vote we exercise just a little more patience." they had been conversing in whispers, lest the sound of their voices might be heard by a sentry, for it was quite possible that the germans might think they had not accounted for the whole garrison of the ruined farmhouse. they had good reason to believe that the british dispatch-rider had taken refuge there; the only chance was that they might have come to the conclusion that rollo was one of the unrecognizable victims of the deadly shell. slowly the hours of darkness passed, the silence broken only at intervals by the dull grinding of the subsiding debris and by a desultory, whispered conversation between the lads. then kenneth became aware that he could indistinctly discern his companion's face the long-hoped-for dawn had come at last. in another half-hour it was light enough to form a fairly accurate idea of the state of affairs. the prisoners were in a triangular-shaped space, two sides consisting of the adjoining walls of the cellar. the third was composed of a bank of broken bricks and stones, diminishing in thickness as it grew in height. overhead a part of the vaulted roof had fallen, but the brickwork remained cemented together, forming a shield from the rubble above it. but for this mass of brickwork the lads would have been crushed to death by the immense weight of the ruined walls of the farm-house. between the topmost bricks and the overhead protection quite a strong light penetrated into the cavity where they crouched. the early morning sun was shining directly upon the heap of debris. "i think we can shift this stuff," remarked kenneth, cautiously feeling a loose brickbat. "all right, carry on," replied rollo. "only be careful to test each piece of rubble before you remove it. if we cannot make a hole through in that direction we must try cutting through the existing wall. it will be a tough job, but you have your knife." "i hope we won't have to do that. the cement is as hard as iron. it would take us a week. let's hope for the best." proceeding very cautiously, kenneth removed enough of the debris to disclose an opening sufficiently large to thrust his head through. upon attempting to enlarge the hole the mass began to slide; the overhead slab of brickwork rumbled. "steady on!" cautioned rollo in alarm. "the whole show's caving in." "it won't any more," declared kenneth after a brief investigation. "see that wedge-shaped brick? it's acting as a keystone of an arch. all we have to do is to remove the rubbish from the lower part of the hole and squeeze out sideways." in another half-hour the gap through the mound of rubble was enlarged to roughly eighteen inches wide and two feet in height. to all appearances the danger of further subsidence was past. "i'll go first, old man," said kenneth. "then, if i get through all right, i can give you a hand. think you'll manage it with that leg of yours?" "i hardly feel it," replied rollo, which was indeed no exaggeration. keeping fairly still in that confined space, he had not tried the injured ankle. but, almost as soon as he made the declaration, he became aware of a throbbing pain from his hip downwards. in spite of kenneth's attention to the sprained ankle on the previous night, the limb had swollen to an alarming extent. rollo made no mention of this to his comrade. he shut his jaw tightly and endured the pain. with the utmost caution kenneth began to wriggle through the narrow tunnel, using one outstretched arm to pull himself over the rough brickwork. the other arm he had to keep close to his side, and even thus it was a tight squeeze. before his head emerged from the opening he stuck--and stuck fast. he felt as if he were suffocating; he was assailed by the horrible dread that the rubble was slowly yet surely subsiding. he wanted to struggle madly and desperately; to shout for aid. he was momentarily panic-stricken. controlling himself by a strong effort, kenneth ceased to waste his strength in a useless attempt to drag himself from that horrible passage. with the sweat pouring from him he kept quiet, filling his lungs with the cool morning air from without. "what have you stopped for?" asked rollo anxiously. "can't help it," was the muffled reply. "give my legs a shove, old man." this rollo did effectively by applying his back to the soles of his companion's feet. keeping absolutely rigid, kenneth found himself being pushed slowly yet gradually towards freedom. his head emerged--then his shoulders. he could now draw up his left arm and assist in the nerve-racking operation. wellnigh breathless, bruised and scraped, covered with dirt and dust, and with his clothing rent in several places, he gained the open air. kenneth had already had sufficient military experience to learn the value of concealment. without attempting to stand he made a careful survey of his surroundings. he was in a bowl-like depression enclosed on all sides by irregular hummocks of pulverized brickwork, tiles, and charred timbers. with a sigh of relief the lad realized that there were no germans in sight. the attacking party had not thought fit to leave a picket in charge of the ruins of the farm-house. to all appearances the two comrades were the only living persons for miles around. "i'll get the rope from the well and give you a pull out," announced kenneth upon returning to the mouth of the tunnel. "it will be a fairly easy job." "don't be long, then," said rollo anxiously. "i won't," replied the lad encouragingly, and without further delay he hastened towards the well. it was no longer there. only a deep cavity partly filled with rubbish marked its site. a shell had exploded close to it, causing the walls to cave in, and throwing out enough earth to leave a pit three yards in diameter. the windlass and the rope had vanished utterly. "that's done it!" exclaimed kenneth; then a brilliant idea flashing across his mind, he bent his back and ran across to the partly-demolished outhouse where he had hidden his motor-cycle. with a shout of satisfaction he found the machine exactly as he had left it. the germans had visited the adjoining shed, for several bundles of fresh straw had been removed. wisps of straw were scattered on the ground, but the rotten material which kenneth had thrown over his mount had been considered unworthy of the spoilers' attention. deftly kenneth removed the belt from the cycle and doubled back to the tunnel. "you've been a time!" exclaimed rollo with evident relief. "i thought you'd tumbled into the well or had been collared by the enemy." "neither, thanks, old man. the well's gone to blazes and the rope as well, but this belt will answer our purpose. hang on with both hands, turn over on your side, sprained foot uppermost, and say when you're ready." upon receiving the signal kenneth began to haul. to his great surprise rollo was pulled through the narrow opening with very little difficulty. once more they were free; but they were not yet out of the wood. between them and the belgian army lay the lines of a vigilant and wary foe. chapter xviii through the enemy's lines "everything's all clear, as far as i can see," reported kenneth. "the question is, how are we to rejoin our regiment?" "i can foot it," declared rollo. "but not ten miles. your ankle would give out before you walked a hundred yards. what i vote we do is that i ride the bike and take you on the carrier." rollo shook his head. "too jolly conspicuous," he protested. "one fellow might stand the ghost of a chance, but two----" kenneth turned over the question in his mind for a few moments. to remain where they were was impracticable. they would be starving before many more hours had passed. "tell you what!" he exclaimed as an idea flashed through his brain. "we'll rig ourselves out in german uniforms----" "and get shot as spies if we're collared! no, thanks, kenneth. if we are to be plugged i'd rather be in belgian uniform, since a british one is at present out of the question." "it's a risk, i admit. everything is, under existing circumstances. if we are spotted, then there's an end to it and us; otherwise we stand a better chance by masquerading in these fellows' clothes." "but if we are challenged? we couldn't reply in german." "you're meeting trouble half-way." "i like to go into the pros and cons," declared rollo. "if you can convince me that your scheme is a sound one, i'm on; otherwise--dead off. for one thing, where are the german uniforms?" "you've forgotten the uhlans we slung into the ditch." rollo shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. "i draw the line at donning the saturated uniform of a dead uhlan." "come, don't be squeamish. if you are never asked to do a worse thing than that in the course of your natural, then you are a lucky individual. you'll find it's like taking a header into the sea on a gusty summer's day. the wind makes you shiver, and you think twice about it, but once you are in the water it's comparatively warm." "you haven't got over the language difficulty." "yes, i have; at least i think so. if we meet any patrols, you must pretend to be half-dead----" "i guess i shall be dead entirely if we do." "badly wounded, then. i'll bandage you up, and at the same time put a scarf round my jaw." "what for?" "haven't you any imagination, old man? why, to make out i've been wounded in the mouth and am unable to speak a word." "you may think me an obstinate mule, kenneth," said his comrade, "but why should two wounded men be trying to make their way to the front? naturally they would be making tracks to the nearest field hospital." "you've done me there," declared kenneth. "but i can't see how we can go direct towards the german lines. whether we go to the right or left the road runs nearly parallel to the enemy's front." "perhaps we may as well risk it," decided rollo. "i believe i noticed a plank across the ditch about a mile along the road. the question is whether the bike will stand it over the rough ground." "she will--she'll tackle anything within reason," said kenneth optimistically. "so let's make a move." overcoming their natural repugnance, the two lads recovered the bodies of a couple of uhlans from the muddy ditch and proceeded to strip them of their uniforms. these they wrung out, and placed on the broken brickwork to dry. "i say!" suddenly exclaimed rollo. "how about these boots with spurs? do uhlans ever ride motor-bikes?" "rather! they've a couple of motor-cyclists to each troop. all we have to do is to knock off the spurs, and there you are!" as soon as the two lads had completed their change of uniforms they made a final reconnaissance. finding the road clear of troops, kenneth started the engine and stood astride the saddle, while rollo took up his position on the carrier. they looked a pair of bedraggled scarecrows. the uhlan uniforms were wet and plastered with mud. rollo's forehead was bound round with a grimy scarf, while, to give a most realistic touch, kenneth had tied the blood-stained handkerchief that had been applied to his chum's ankle round the lower part of his face, completely covering his mouth. "ready?" asked kenneth in muffled tones. receiving an affirmative reply from his companion, he slipped in the clutch and away the cycle glided. "here's trouble!" the lad thought before many yards of road had been traversed, for ahead was a rapidly-nearing cloud of dust that evidently betokened the approach of cavalry or horse artillery. "troops of sorts coming," he informed his companion. "thanks, quite comfortable," was rollo's inconsequential reply; for the handkerchief round kenneth's mouth, the noise of the engine, and the rush of air as the motor-cycle tore along prevented the passenger from hearing the information given, while rollo was unable to look ahead. "germans in sight!" yelled kenneth. this time rollo understood. resisting the temptation to look over his companion's shoulder, he drooped his head, as becoming the rôle of a badly-wounded man. the on-coming troops turned out to be neither cavalry nor artillery, but a motor section, including a machine-gun mounted on an armoured side-car. fortunately the pace as rollo and kenneth tore past was such that recognition or detection was out of the question. "here we are," announced rollo a few seconds later. kenneth quickly pulled up. as he did so he gave a hurried look around. there were no signs of more germans, while the motor-cyclist detachment was almost out of sight. the plank across the ditch was about nine inches wide. in places it was worn to such an extent that there were holes in the wood. kenneth eyed it with obvious distrust, yet it seemed the only likely means of gaining the open country beyond, across which a footpath promised fairly easy going. "i didn't know that it was so rotten as that," said rollo apologetically. "i don't know whether it will bear the weight of the bike." "we'll risk it anyhow," declared kenneth. "can you put your foot to the ground without much pain? you can? good! steady the jigger a second." unhesitatingly kenneth jumped into the ditch. he sank above his ankles in mud, with the water up to his thighs, yet he was able to keep the motor-cycle in an upright position while rollo, steadying himself by means of the saddle, pushed it along the creaking plank. "that looks bad," commented kenneth, pointing to a small object lying on the ground. it was a brass button from the tunic of a prussian soldier. some of the enemy had passed that way, and were consequently between the lads and the belgian lines. "we may find a gap," declared rollo, for by this time he was whole-heartedly devoted to the carrying out of his comrade's plans. "if it comes to the pinch we will have to abandon the bike." "steady, old man!" said kenneth in mock reproof. "because you lost your motor-cycle there is no reason why you should suggest my doing likewise. now, jump up." kenneth maintained a moderate pace, keeping a bright look-out for any indications of the invaders. judging by the state of the path and the ground for a few yards on either side, a regiment had recently passed that way, marching in fours. that meant that they were some distance from the supposed firing-line, otherwise the men would have advanced in open order. from the north came the distant rumble of guns. an action was in progress in the neighbourhood of diest and aerschot. "look out!" suddenly exclaimed rollo. "there's a taube." "where?" enquired his companion, slipping the handkerchief from over his mouth. "right behind us, and coming this way. i believe it's going to land." "the rotter!" ejaculated kenneth. "i wonder if they have spotted us, and are suspicious." there was no time to say more, for the aeroplane was now passing overhead at an altitude of about two hundred feet. the motor had been switched off, and the taube was vol-planing towards the earth. it descended clumsily, striking the ground with a terrific bump that demolished the wheels and landing-skids. directly the taube came to rest, the pilot alighted and waved frantically to the two supposed uhlan motor-cyclists. "i'll have to go," mumbled kenneth, who had readjusted his bandage. "you stay here. now, steady--let me help you. remember you are badly wounded, yet you want to skip like a superanimated gazelle. that's better; let your arms trail helplessly." having placed rollo in a dry, shallow ditch by the side of the path, kenneth walked quickly towards the disabled taube. outwardly he was cool enough, but his heart was beating rapidly. at ten paces from the observer he stopped, clicked his heels, and saluted in correct german fashion. the flying-officer spoke rapidly, at the same time pointing in a westerly direction. kenneth knew not a word of what he said, but replied by nodding his head and indicating his bandaged jaw. the german scowled, then, turning to the pilot, spoke a few quick sentences. kenneth's hand wandered to the butt-end of his revolver. it imparted a feeling of comparative security. then, recollecting his rôle, he pulled himself together and stood rigidly at attention, at the same time ready, at the first sign of suspicion on the part of the airmen, to draw his weapon and blaze away. presently the pilot produced some sheets of paper and a buff calico envelope. the observer scribbled a few lines, sealed the missive, and held it towards the pseudo uhlan. although kenneth could not understand the other's words, their meaning was clear enough. he had been peremptorily told to make tracks and deliver the message somewhere towards the west, where the german lines were. with another salute he wheeled, and returned to his companion. not daring to speak a word, he assisted rollo to his seat on the carrier and set the motor in action. "we're in luck, old man," said kenneth, when they were well out of sight of the disabled taube. "if we are spotted by any patrols this letter will pass us through. it's evidently a report to the colonel of one of the regiments in the fighting-line." "don't you think you had better drop me?" "drop you--what on earth for?" "you might get through as a german dispatch-rider; but with a supposed wounded man going towards the firing-line? looks a bit suspicious, eh?" "no fear; we'll stick together. if one gets through, the other must; otherwise we'll both go under. hello! here's a road." it was a sharp corner as they swung from the path to the highway. kenneth wisely slowed down, and found himself almost in collision with a german patrol. the men were evidently exhausted. two were standing in the centre of the road, and leaning heavily upon their rifles. half a dozen more, having discarded their rolled coats and cumbersome knapsacks, were reclining on a bank. the two faced about on hearing the approach of the motor. the others sprang to their feet and seized their rifles. producing the buff envelope kenneth waved it frantically, at the same time increasing speed. the germans stood back, the sergeant grunting a few words as the two lads flashed by. no bullets whistled past them; the aviator's dispatch had proved a safe passport. for the next two miles they were continually passing troops, some going in the same direction, accompanied by heavily-laden supply wagons; others, wounded in action, painfully making their way towards the nearest field hospital. the action, whatever the result might be, was no longer in this part of the field of operations. ahead were the bivouacs of the germans holding the line of front. the air was thick with the smoke of their campfires. right and left, as far as the eye could see, were masses of grey-coated men, without a sign of a gap through which the british lads could make a dash for freedom. two hundred yards to the left of the road was a battery, the guns of which were admirably concealed from view from the front by a bank of earth on which were stuck branches of trees. the muzzles of the artillery were pointing at an angle of thirty degrees, so that they must have been shelling a belgian position at a range of about five miles. since the guns were now silent, kenneth could only reiterate his belief that the heroic belgians had had to retire in the face of overwhelming numbers, and that a distance of at least seven miles lay between the two lads and their friends. after passing numerous detachments of troops without alarming incident, the confidence of kenneth and his companion grew stronger; but they had a nasty shock when they were peremptorily challenged by a picket and ordered to halt. the sight of half a dozen levelled bayonets left no doubt as to the demands of the sergeant in charge of the party. kenneth brought the motor-cycle to a dead-stop, keeping his saddle and supporting the machine by placing his feet on the ground. rollo, too, made no attempt to dismount, but, clinging to his companion, drooped his head with well-feigned exhaustion. pointing to the bandage over his jaw, kenneth produced the official document. the sergeant took it, read the inscription, and pointed to a turning on the right. that, the lads knew, ran parallel to the german front. meanwhile one of the soldiers stooped and peered into rollo's face. then he said something to the sergeant, who signified assent. the private began to lift rollo from his perch--not with any degree of violence, but carefully, as if actuated by feelings of compassion, addressing him as _kamerade_. rollo hung on tightly. kenneth turned his head and expostulated in dumb show. the private again appealed to his sergeant, at the same time pointing to a red cross motor-wagon that was standing at some distance off. with a jerk of his head the sergeant bade the man desist. after all, it was not his business. if the wounded uhlan preferred to be jolted about on a motorcycle rather than be properly attended to in an ambulance cart, it was his affair. not to be outdone, the private gave rollo a drink from his water-bottle. then, having returned the envelope to kenneth and given him elaborate directions, made fairly clear by many movements of his hand, the sergeant allowed the two lads to proceed. to continue along the road would arouse immediate suspicion. accordingly kenneth turned off and followed the route indicated by the german. here, although there were plenty of troops moving up and down, most of the traffic was across the road between the bivouacs of the advance lines and the supports. men were hurrying, each with a set purpose, and the two supposed wounded lads attracted but little notice. the road they were now following was gradually converging upon the line of resting troops. unless it made a bend to the right it would cut through the mass of german soldiery. and perhaps the officer whose name was on the envelope might be within close distance. his acquaintance neither kenneth nor rollo had the faintest desire to make. so suddenly that kenneth almost overshot it, a narrow lane, running at right angles to the direction in which they were travelling, came into view. it separated two infantry regiments, while at the cross-roads two machine-guns commanded the approach from the westward. in an instant kenneth made up his mind. round swung the motor-bike, grazing one of the machine-guns by a bare inch; then, at full speed, kenneth began his hazardous dash for safety. he had not ignored the risk, but there was a chance of success. the lane wound considerably, and, before the machine-guns could open fire, the fugitives would be screened by a bend of the tree-lined avenue. a dozen voices shouted to him to stop. a bullet whistled high above the heads of the fugitives. a soldier, more alert than his comrades, had let loose a hasty, ill-aimed shot. other bullets followed, some hitting the ground, others zipping overhead; but to kenneth's relief there was no tap-tap of the deadly machine-guns. "an outpost, by jove!" muttered kenneth. he had not reckoned upon this. a quarter of a mile in advance of the line of bivouacs were a dozen infantrymen, lying hidden in a copse. hearing the rifle-firing they started to their feet. kenneth never attempted to slacken his pace. he realized that everything depended upon speed. before the outposts could solve the mystery of two men in uhlan uniforms tearing towards them, the motor-cycle with its double burden was upon them. they gave back. one man attempted to lunge with his bayonet, but the tip of the steel flashed a good hair's breadth behind rollo's back. a ragged, ill-aimed volley was the parting salute. the two british lads were through the enemy's lines. chapter xix arrested as spies "we're safe for the present," remarked kenneth, after the two fugitives had placed a distance of at least four miles between them and the outlying german post. "i didn't mention it before, but the belt is slipping horribly. the strain has stretched it a lot; so we may as well shorten the rubber." "by jove, it is slack!" exclaimed rollo, testing the "give" of the belt. "it's a wonder it didn't let us down badly. it's a funny thing, old man, but i've often noticed that if we expect a lot of trouble we get through without hardly any bother. the last lap, when we rushed the german lines, was as easy as abc." "yes," assented his companion. "i've noticed that too. it's the unexpected trifle that often leads to greater difficulties. got your knife handy? oh, i suppose the germans took a fancy to that too. can you get mine from my pocket? that's right, cut the belt through at an inch from the end." the motor-cyclists had halted in the midst of a war-devastated area. farm houses and buildings were numerous, but in almost every case they had suffered severely from shell-fire. not a living creature, besides themselves, was in sight. here and there were corpses of the gallant defenders of belgium, some in uniforms, some in civilian attire. these men, shot whilst in the act of retiring under a terrific artillery fire, had been left where they fell, showing how heavy had been the german attack; for in most cases the plucky belgians contrived to carry off those of their comrades who had died for their country. close to the spot where kenneth and his companion had stopped was a large farm wagon piled high with furniture. yoked to it were the bodies of two oxen, while a short distance away lay a dead peasant--an old man. the wagon, on which the refugee had been attempting to remove his goods and chattels from his threatened homestead, had fallen an easy target to the german guns. a gnawing hunger compelled the british lads to examine the shell-riddled contents of the wagon in the hope of finding food. but in this they were disappointed. not so much as a scrap of anything to eat was to be found. both lads were parched, kenneth especially so. even rollo had almost forgotten the refreshing taste of the water given him by the german private. yet, even in the pangs of a burning thirst, they could not bring themselves to drink of the stagnant water in the ditches by the roadside. the repair completed, the motor-cyclists remounted. they were most eager to push on, even for the sake of obtaining drink, food, and rest. it could only be a matter of a few short, easy miles before they would be safe for the time being in the country still held by their friends, the belgian troops. "she's pulling splendidly now," announced kenneth, referring to the transmission of power from the engine to the driving-wheel. both lads had now discarded the bandages over their bogus wounds, and conversation was a fairly easy matter. hardly were the words out of his mouth when the motor began to falter. then it "picked up", ran for about a quarter of a minute and slowed down again, finally coming to a dead-stop. "no petrol," announced rollo ruefully. "the tank is empty." "rot!" ejaculated his companion incredulously. "it was full when we started, and i'll swear we've done nothing like sixty miles on it yet." kenneth examined the gauge, then turned to his chum. "sorry, old man," he said. "i'm wrong. the stuff's all gone." further examination revealed the unpleasant fact that there was a small leak between the piping and the carburettor. unnoticed, a quantity of the petrol had run to waste. "it's a case of push," continued kenneth. "how's your foot? fit for a tramp? if not, you may as well get on the saddle and i'll run you along." although young barrington's ankle was paining considerably, he sturdily refused to take advantage of his companion's offer. from experience he knew that pushing a motor was no light task. kenneth might be capable of giving him a lift, but rollo would not trespass upon his friend's generous conduct to that extent. on and on they plodded, rollo resting one hand on the saddle and striving to conceal his limp. presently a practically ruined village came in sight. not only had it been heavily bombarded, but subsequent fires had increased the work of destruction. thick columns of smoke were rising high into the sultry air, while above the roar of the flames could be heard the excited tones of human voices. "the villagers are trying to save the little that remains of their homes," said kenneth. "they'll be able to give us some information as to where we can pick up the belgian troops. perhaps, though i doubt it, we may be also able to procure petrol." suddenly a peasant, who was standing about a hundred yards in front of the nearest house, took to his heels and ran, shouting as he went. before he gained the village, spurts of dull flame burst from behind a heap of debris piled across the road, and half a dozen bullets _zipped_ past the two lads. "lie down!" exclaimed kenneth, stopping only to place his precious motor-cycle behind a tree by the side of a ditch, before he followed the prompt example of his companion. "those fellows have mistaken us for uhlans. i don't wonder at it, now i come to think about it." although sheltered by a mound by the side of the ditch, their place of concealment was known to the peasants. the latter kept up quite a hot fire from antiquated muskets and sporting-guns. shots whizzed overhead, and showers of pellets fell all around the two lads. "can't blame them," said rollo. "let's hoist the white flag; it's no disgrace in this case." kenneth produced a very discoloured pocket-handkerchief. at one time it had been a white one, but owing to the various uses to which it had been put its colour resembled that tint which the french, with a reason, call "isabelle". for want of a staff he was obliged to hold it by his uplifted arm. in return he received a couple of pellets from a "twelve-bore", which, fortunately, only inflicted two punctured wounds in his skin. "i'm not a rabbit," muttered kenneth, and he continued to wave the "white flag". presently the firing ceased, and a swarm of men, accompanied by several shrieking women, bore down upon the two supposed uhlans. "we're friends!" shouted kenneth. "we're english. we've escaped from the prussians." he might just as well have attempted to stem a torrent with a feather. the villagers saw only the hated uniforms of their merciless oppressors. they had no cause to grant quarter to uhlans, for uhlans were brutal and murderous to all with whom they came in contact when on their dreaded raids. "a mort! a bas!" rose from the mob like the growling of a pack of half-famished animals. the two british lads were in dire peril of being torn limb from limb. "a bas les prussiens! nous sommes anglais," shouted kenneth again, folding his arms and trying his level best to appear calm. a stick, hurled by a woman's hand, missed his head and struck him heavily upon the shoulder. at almost the same time rollo was hit by a broken brick, the missile striking him in the ribs. "tenez!" thundered an authoritative voice. "let us show these vile uhlans that belgians are civilized. we will give them a fair trial, and shoot them afterwards." "anything for a respite," thought kenneth. even in this moment of peril the belgian speaker's idea of a fair trial tickled his sense of humour. the man who had intervened was a short, thickset fellow, with lowering eyebrows and a crop of closely-cut hair. he was dressed in black, while round his waist was a shawl, evidently intended for a badge of office. he had donned it in such a hurry that the loops of the bows had come undone and were trailing in the dust. grasped by a dozen toil-hardened hands, and surrounded by the rest of the survivors of the justly exasperated inhabitants, the two lads were hurried towards the village. "i wish we had kept on our uniforms under these, old man," said rollo. "we've nothing to prove our identity." "they're speaking in german. that proves their guilt," announced one of their captors. neither kenneth nor rollo attempted to deny the statement--somewhat unwisely, for their unsophisticated guards took silence as an expression of assent to the accusation. the military passes provided by the belgian government had been destroyed--rollo's, when captured at cortenaeken; kenneth's, when the lads made their hitherto beneficial exchange of uniforms. as rollo had remarked, they possessed nothing that they could produce to prove their identity. happening to look over his shoulder, kenneth saw a peasant kicking his motor-cycle. unable to wheel it, since its owner had slipped in the clutch previous to placing it under cover, the belgian was venting his annoyance upon the machine. "stop!" shouted kenneth. "that's an english motor-cycle. would you do harm to anything made by your friends the english?" he used the word "english" advisedly, for experience had taught him that the term "british" is hardly known to the peasantry of belgium. even the educated classes make use of the expression "english" more frequently than "british". "aye; do not injure it, henri," called out the man who evidently held the office of mayor. "when the english soldiers arrive to help us to drive back the bosches it may be useful to them. parbleu! it is useless to us." in front of the ruined church the villagers held a most informal trial upon their captives. from the belgians' point of view the evidence was absolutely conclusive against the prisoners. they were in german uniforms. in vain the lads mentioned the names of major résimont, captain planchenoît, and other officers of the 9th regiment of the line. the peasants knew nothing of them; besides, they declared, it was an easy matter to invent names. again, the prisoners spoke french with a foreign accent; they had been caught whilst coming from the direction of the german lines. they were, no doubt, scouts of the uhlan patrol, bent upon completing the work of massacre and destruction that the guns had begun against the unresisting village. "hang them: powder is too good to waste upon canaille such as these," suggested one of the peasants. "yes, hang them," agreed another. "i'll do the job. 'twill be but a slight revenge for my murdered wife and children. let the uhlans see, when next they come, that we, too, can be terrible." the major nodded his head approvingly. a man shuffled forward with a coil of rope. "one moment," exclaimed kenneth, who even in this moment of peril did not lose his head. "if we are to die, cannot we have the service of a priest?" it was a faint chance. a representative of the church would undoubtedly have great influence with his flock. he would, more than likely, listen impartially to the story of the two condemned prisoners. "a priest?" echoed one of the peasants mockingly. "is it likely that germans who have purposely shattered god's house can hope for absolution from a priest?" "besides, we have not a priest," added another. "monsieur le curé was wounded early in the day. he was taken to louvain." "hurry with the execution, camarades," said the mayor. "time is precious. at any moment a strong body of these uhlans may be upon us. prepared, we may bring down a few and sell our lives dearly--but this is not being prepared." kenneth shivered when he felt the contact of the rope round his neck. he glanced at his companion. rollo's face was red with suppressed fury. he looked as if he were on the point of breaking loose and making a desperate bid for freedom. it was the injustice of the whole business, not the fear of death, that agitated him. "let's have a slap at them," said rollo in a low tone. "if we get a dose of lead it will be better than a rope. quickly, before they begin to tie our hands. ready?" "aye," replied kenneth calmly. "one moment! you mark time with that fellow with the scar over his eye. we'll keep together as long as we can. i hardly feel my ankle----" he stopped. his ready ear detected the clatter of horses' hoofs. the peasants heard it too. in evident alarm they gripped their antiquated fire-arms. the fellow with the rope let the noose fall from his hands and made a rush for his musket. "it is well, camarades," shouted the mayor. "they are our soldiers." down the main street of the ruined village rode a troop of belgian lancers, followed by a motor-car on which was mounted an automatic gun. seeing two men in uhlan uniforms surrounded by a mob of angry peasants, the officer in charge ordered his men to halt, and rode up to ascertain the cause of the commotion. as he did so, kenneth recognized him as one of the officers who took part in trapping the uhlans after their raid on tongres. "a nous, mon capitaine!" he said in a loud, clear voice. "what have we here?" exclaimed the officer in astonishment; then recalling kenneth's features he continued: "the english soldier in uhlan uniform! what is the meaning of it all?" in as few words as possible kenneth related the circumstances that led to their present condition. when he had finished, the captain turned to the leading villager. "monsieur le maire," he said. "i will be answerable for these two englishmen. believe me, in your zeal for your country's good you have slightly overstepped the bounds. fortunately there is no real harm done, and messieurs les anglais will no doubt forgive an unintentional injury." the mayor, who had meanwhile readjusted his sash, saluted the lancer captain, then held out his hand to kenneth. "pardon, camarade," he said. now that the danger was over, both lads felt able to accept the deep apologies of the peasants. the latter had been labouring under a genuine grievance, and their somewhat high-handed action would admit of an excuse. they were quaking in their shoes lest their former prisoners should take steps to secure their punishment; but finding themselves magnanimously treated, they responded with three hurrahs for england and the two men who had come from that country to aid stricken belgium in her troubles. "now what do you propose doing?" asked the captain. "as for us, we must push on. we have an important reconnaissance to make." "we want to rejoin our regiment--the 9th of the line, sir," replied kenneth. the officer smiled grimly. "i regret, messieurs, that i cannot help you in that direction," he said. "perhaps the best thing you can do is to make your way to brussels, and there await news of your regiment. should anyone question you, say that i--captain doublebois--have instructed you. is there anything else?" "we've run short of petrol, sir," announced rollo, pointing in the direction of the motor-cycle, the handlebars of which were just visible above the edge of the ditch. "parbleu! petrol is now as precious as one's life-blood. nevertheless, i think we may be able to spare you a litre. corporal fougette," he shouted, addressing the non-commissioned officer in charge of the motor machine-gun, "measure out a litre of petrol for these messieurs--good measure, not a drop more or less." the captain stood by while kenneth brought up the cycle and had the petrol poured into the tank. "now, messieurs," he continued, "this will suffice to take you as far as our nearest depot. after that, proceed to brussels. i'll warrant you'll be in need of a rest, but there will be plenty to occupy your minds, or my name is not captain raoul doublebois. but take my advice, messieurs, and get rid of those accursed uniforms!" chapter xx stranded in brussels it was late in the day when kenneth and rollo having partaken of a plain but satisfying meal on the way, arrived in belgium's capital. the streets were crowded with refugees from the war-inundated districts. throngs of pale-faced women and children, for the most part unnaturally apathetic, stood in mute despair around the country carts piled high with their belongings. many of them had seen their houses torn by shot and shell, their neighbours slain by the german guns. rendered homeless, they had fled to brussels; their villages might be overrun and occupied by the invaders, but the capital--never! the allies would never permit that. old men related the tales of their grandsires, how, almost a hundred years ago, england saved brussels from the invader. history would, they felt convinced, repeat itself. so in their thousands the refugees poured into the already congested streets of the city. kenneth and his companion were indeed fortunate in securing the room they had occupied during their previous stay in the belgian capital. quickly divesting themselves of the civilian garb that they had managed to procure, they threw themselves into bed and slept like logs until nine the next morning. when rollo attempted to rise he found that his ankle had swollen to such an extent that it was almost a matter of impossibility to set foot to ground. the excitement and continual movement of the previous day had tended to make him forget the injury, but once his boot was removed and the limb allowed to rest, inflammation and consequent enlargement of the joint were the result. "take it easy, old man," suggested kenneth. "when we've had breakfast i'll saunter out and see how things are progressing. let me see, what's the programme? new uniforms; money--we have about ten centimes between the pair of us. it's lucky the pater placed that fifty pounds to my credit in the bank. the trouble is, how am i to prove my identity? then there's thelma. perhaps major résimont's family has returned to the rue de la tribune, so i'll find out. i'll be gone some little time, old man." "i don't mind," replied rollo. "before you go, you might get hold of a paper." the cost of their simple breakfast was an "eye-opener". already famine prices were being asked in the overcrowded city. somewhat shamefacedly kenneth had to explain the reason for his pecuniary embarrassment; but to his surprise the short, podgy woman who corresponded to the british landlady expressed her willingness to wait until messieurs les anglais were accommodated. "perhaps, although i trust not, i may have to entertain prussians," she added. "then i know it is hopeless to expect payment." having had breakfast, kenneth went out. he had put on an overcoat, lent by his obliging hostess, in order to conceal the nondescript garments he had obtained as civilian clothes. the crowded streets were strangely quiet. beyond the occasional crying of a child or the barking of some of the numerous dogs, there was little sound from the listless throng. when kenneth was last in brussels the people were vociferously discussing the situation, especially the momentarily expected arrival of the british expeditionary force. now hope seemed dead. no longer was there any talk of foreign aid. people began to accept as a matter of course the fact that their city would be handed over to the germans without opposition. already the seat of government had been removed to antwerp. the civil guards, who had at first commenced to erect barricades on the roads approaching from the eastward, had been ordered to remove the obstructions and to disarm themselves. in order to spare their city from sack and destruction, the bruxellois had decided to admit the huns without opposition. before kenneth had gone very far his progress was barred by a vast concourse of people. civil guards were forcing a way through the throng, to allow the passing of a red cross convoy. there were thirty wagons, all filled to their utmost capacity, for the most part with mangled specimens of humanity. for every soldier wounded by a rifle-bullet there were, roughly, twenty-nine maimed by shell-fire. another battle had just taken place, with the now usual result. the belgians, utterly outnumbered and outranged, had been compelled to fall back in spite of a determined and vigorous defence. of their army a portion had retreated towards ostend, while the greater part had retired to the shelter of the vast and supposedly impregnable fortress of antwerp. as soon as the convoy had passed, kenneth hurried to the military depot. he found the place locked up. not a soldier was to be seen. enquiries brought the information that, regarding the fall of brussels as inevitable, the authorities had transferred practically the whole of the military stores to antwerp and bruges. "you want a uniform?" repeated the old citizen to whom kenneth had announced his requirements. "ma foi! your only chance, unless you get a discarded uniform from the hospital (and there, alas! there are many), is to follow the army to antwerp. but you are not a belgian?" "no, english," replied kenneth. "and i must remain in brussels for a few days." "then, mon garçon, put the idea of a uniform out of your head whilst you are here. otherwise, when the bosches arrive--- ah, mon dieu, they are barbarians!" "perhaps the old chap is right," thought kenneth as he resumed his way. "i cannot desert rollo, and if i were to be found in belgian uniform it would mean at least a trip across the rhine and confinement in a barbed-wire compound till the end of the war. now for the credit belgique." upon arriving at the bank the lad had another setback. the premises were closed; all the windows were heavily shuttered, whilst on the door was a notice, printed in french and flemish, to the effect that the whole of the bullion and specie had been taken over by the government, and that the bonds had been sent to london for security until belgium was free from the invading german armies. "bang goes my fifty pounds!" thought kenneth. "we'll have to exist on our corporal's pay--one franc fifty centimes a week, if we can get it." from the bank kenneth made his way to the rue de la tribune. here most of the shops were shut and every other private house deserted. at the house owned by the résimont family there was no sign of occupation. one of the windows on the ground floor had been broken. through the empty window-frame a curtain fluttered idly in the breeze. already it was frayed by the action of the wind. obviously the damage had been going on for some considerable time, without any attempt to prevent it. hoping against hope, kenneth hammered at the knocker, but the door remained unanswered. from the doorway of a tobacconist's shop opposite, the portly, well-groomed proprietor appeared. raising a jewel-bedecked hand, he beckoned to the shabby youth standing on the résimonts' doorstep. "monsieur requires----?" he asked, raising his eyebrows to complete his question. "i wish to see madame résimont, monsieur." "madame set out soon after the war broke out. whither i know not. but monsieur is not belgian?" "no, english," replied kenneth promptly, at the same time wondering why two people had asked that question that morning. it was a shock to his self-confidence, for he was beginning to pride himself upon his perfect french accent. "you live in the city?" "for a few days, monsieur." "good! perchance i may hear news of madame. if you will let me have your address, i will in that case let you know." kenneth furnished the desired information, and, having thanked the tobacconist, began to retrace his steps. as he did so he glanced at the name over the shop. in brass letters were the words "au bon fumeur--jules de la paix ". the worthy jules did not wait until kenneth was out of sight. tripping back into the shop, he grabbed an envelope from the counter and wrote the name and address which he had obtained. "english. spy undoubtedly," he muttered gleefully. "in another two days that will be worth much to me." for jules de la paix was belgian only as far as his assumed name went. in reality he was a prussian, a native of charlottenburg, and a spy in the pay of the german government. for over twenty years he had been in business as a tobacconist in the rue de la tribune, fostered by teutonic subsidies, waiting for the expected day when the kaiser's grey-clad legions were to strike at france through the supposedly inviolate territory of belgium. "i'll call at the post office," decided kenneth. "i don't suppose it will be of any use, but on the off-chance there may be letters waiting for rollo or me. there's no harm in trying." in blissful ignorance of the danger that overshadowed him, kenneth made his way through the crowd invading the post office. it was nearly forty minutes before his turn came. in reply to his request, a hopelessly overworked clerk went to a pigeonhole and removed a pile of envelopes. "nothing, monsieur everest," he announced, after a perfunctory glance at the various addresses. "nor is there anything for monsieur barrington." "hullo, everest, old boy! what on earth are you doing here?" exclaimed a voice in kenneth's ear. turning, the lad found himself confronted by a tall, erect englishman, whose features were partly concealed by the turned-down brim of a soft felt hat. "i'm afraid i don't--- why, it's dacres!" "right, old boy! but you haven't answered my question. what are you doing in brussels at this lively moment?" dick dacres was an old st. cyprian's boy. he was kenneth's senior by several years, having left the upper sixth while young everest was still in the third. kenneth ought to have recognized him sooner, for he had been dacres's fag for one term. "let's get out of this crush," continued dacres, grasping his old schoolfellow by the arm. once clear of the crowd he noticed for the first time the lad's shabby clothes, but with inborn courtesy he refrained from passing any remark that might cause any confusion on the part of young everest. "i'm out here on service; can't give you any particulars. what are you doing here?" "i'm with barrington--you remember him? we're corporals of the 9th regiment of the line--motor-cyclist section." "indeed! where is barrington?" "in bed with a sprained ankle. would you like to see him? it isn't very far." dacres glanced at his watch. "i should, only i can't stop very long. i have an appointment with the----" he broke off suddenly. "you're not in uniform, i see." "no; we had to discard ours. i have been trying to get a fresh equipment, but it seems hopeless in this place." "fire away and let's have your yarn," said dacres encouragingly, as they walked side by side along one of the fairly-unfrequented streets running parallel with the rue de la tribune. before they reached the modest lodging dacres had skilfully extracted the main thread of his late college-chums' adventures. "then you're temporarily on the rocks," he observed. "i didn't say so," expostulated kenneth. "my dear man, i know you didn't, but i can put two and two together. it's a delicate subject, everest, and i'm afraid i'm rather a blunt sort of chap, so excuse me. you're on your beam-ends?" "unfortunately, yes," admitted kenneth. "the pater sent a draft to the credit belgique, but before i could draw on it the bank's been transferred. but it will be all right soon, i expect." "very well then, until things get a bit straight, let me give you a leg-up. don't be uppish, old man. remember we're britons in a strange land. luckily i'm fairly flush." so saying, dacres produced his purse, and extracting five twenty-franc pieces forced them into kenneth's hand, abruptly checking the lad's mingled protestations and thanks. "rollo, old man, i've brought someone to see you," announced his comrade, as he opened the door of the room in which rollo was lying in bed. "hulloa, barrington!" "hulloa, dacres!" that was the prosaic greeting, nothing more and nothing less; yet there was a wealth of cordial surprise in the interchange of exclamations. the time dacres had at his disposal was only too short. he was, he explained, a sub-lieutenant in one of the recently-raised naval brigades, and had accompanied an officer of rank upon an important mission to belgium. more he was unable to say. he had already been to ostend, and was now about to proceed to antwerp. "we're returning home to-night," he concluded. "if you like to entrust me with a letter, i'll see that it's posted safely the moment i set foot ashore in england. if i've time i'll look your people up and let them know you're doing your little bit. it all depends upon whether i can get leave, but we are hard at it whipping recruits into shape." "awfully decent chap," commented kenneth, when dick dacres had taken his departure. "he would insist upon lending me a hundred francs. otherwise, old man, we would be on the rocks--absolutely. i've drawn three blanks--no uniforms obtainable, no tidings of the résimont family, and no letters from home. i think we ought to hang on here a little while until your ankle's fit. we may see the beastly germans marching through the city, for the burgomaster has gone, so i hear, to obtain terms of capitulation." "where are the belgian troops?" "mostly in antwerp." "then if i were you, i'd make tracks for antwerp while there's time." "are you fit, then?" "i wasn't referring to myself. this ankle will keep me here some days longer, i'm afraid. but you go, and if i have a ghost of a chance i'll find you again within a week." kenneth shook his head. "can't be done," he declared. "i mean to stand by you till you're well again. it would be interesting to watch how those germans behave in brussels." "it's risky," remarked rollo. "so is everything connected with this business, old man. besides, we are acting under the orders of captain doublebois, so that settles it." chapter xxi denounced the morning of the 20th august--a fateful day in the history of belgium--dawned, accompanied by a drizzling rain. the sky seemed to be shedding tears of sympathy at the impending fate of brussels, for, according to the terms of the agreement made between the german commander, sixtus von arnim, and the belgian burgomaster, the invading troops were to march in unopposed. when the triumphant prussians entered paris after the siege of 1870, their pageant-like progress was witnessed only by a few exasperated parisians from behind the shuttered windows of their houses. the streets along the line of route were practically deserted. had the bruxellois adopted a similar plan, much of the effect of the gaudy display of germany in arms would have been thrown away. but the citizens of brussels acted otherwise. in spite of their fear and trembling they assembled in vast, silent throngs. curiosity had got the better of their national pride. those who had good reason to doubt the plighted word of a prussian took courage at the high-spirited yet conciliatory proclamation of the debonair m. max, the burgomaster: "as long as i live, or am a free agent, i shall endeavour to protect the rights and dignity of my fellow-citizens. i pray you, therefore, to make my task easier by refraining from all acts of hostility against the german soldiery. citizens, befall what may, listen to your burgomaster. he will not betray you. long live belgium, free and independent! long live brussels!" accordingly the citizens, amongst whom were few able-bodied men, assembled in crowds ten or twelve deep along the principal thoroughfares. amongst them was kenneth everest, who, in his civilian garb, attracted no attention from those who stood near him. since a dignified silence seemed to brood over the humiliated belgians, kenneth had no occasion to speak, and thus disclose his nationality. he knew, by reports from his hostess, that there were spies innumerable mingled with the throng; but he was unaware that he was already marked for denunciation to the german authorities as soon as the prussian rule was established in belgium's capital. presently a wave of dull expectancy swept through the heavy-hearted populace. it was now early in the afternoon. from the south-east and east came the faint discord of military bands playing one against the other. louder and louder grew the noise, till the strident tones of "deutschland über alles", played by the leading regimental band, drowned the chaotic blare of the next. craning his neck in order to obtain a clear view through the forest of dripping umbrellas--for the rain was now falling steadily--kenneth could discern the head of the procession--a general, swarthy and heavy jowled, who scowled under his heavy eyebrows at the crowd as he rode by. he was the personification of german brute force, a stiffly-rigid figure in grey. he reminded kenneth of a cast-iron equestrian statue smothered in grey paint. in close formation came the various regiments of the invaders, men whose fresh uniforms and faultless equipment gave the appearance of troops straight from their regimental depots rather than war-worn veterans. and this, in fact, was the case. the men who had learned to respect the courage and determination of the hitherto despised belgian troops had not been permitted to engage in the triumphal pageant through the surrendered city. others of the almost innumerable teutonic legions had been sent forward to impress the remaining inhabitants of brussels. suddenly a guttural order rang out. as one man the grey-clad ranks broke into the machine-like goose-step. possibly this spectacular display was meant to seal the impression upon the onlookers. if so, those responsible for the order were grievously mistaken. regarding the action as one of insulting triumph, the belgians strengthened their resolutions to impress on their absent troops the necessity of resisting to the last cartridge. with the troops came large transport sections, motor machine-guns, batteries, and siege-trains. during that memorable afternoon nearly fifty thousand german troops poured into the city. they were resolved to hold and bleed the luckless citizens to the last gold piece--an indemnity for non-resistance. "so they're here?" asked rollo of his companion upon the latter's return. "i heard the din and the terrific discord of their brass bands. have they done any damage?" "not as far as i could see. it is too early to come to any conclusion. at any rate, we'll lie low for a few days. i don't suppose they'll trouble us. how's the ankle?" for the whole of the next day kenneth remained indoors with his partly-crippled companion. perhaps the most galling part of his detention was the total absence of news from without, for none of the papers were permitted to appear. small detachments of germans patrolled the side streets, and, generally speaking, order was well maintained. the conquerors evidently wished to impress the citizens of brussels with their magnanimous conduct; but, with the record of their deeds against the unresisting villages of the provinces of liége and brabant, the germans made very little headway in gaining the goodwill of the inhabitants. about nine on the following morning the lads heard a furious hammering on the street door of the house. they exchanged enquiring glances. kenneth rushed to the latticed window, opened it cautiously, and looked down into the narrow street. standing outside the house were a dozen prussian infantrymen. a sergeant was about to hammer again upon the door. beside him stood a lieutenant, drawn sword in hand. a crowd of inquisitive civilians stood at a respectful distance; while, from the windows of the houses on the opposite side of the street, the frightened inhabitants peeped timorously at the display of armed force outside the dwelling of the highly-respected madame hirondelle. "what's up?" asked rollo. "prussians. they're after us, old man." "nonsense! why should they be?" "someone's given us away," declared kenneth savagely. he realized that they were trapped. there was no means of escape along the roofs of the adjoining houses, no place in which to hide without being easily and ignominiously hauled out. even had there been a chance of getting clear, rollo's injured ankle had to be taken into consideration. they heard the door being opened; the harsh voice of the german lieutenant interrogating madame hirondelle in execrable french; then the tramp of heavy boots as the file of soldiers entered the house and began to ascend the stairs. rollo sat up in bed. his companion stood by the side of the alcove, gripping the back of a chair. then came a heavy knock at the door of the room, as a harsh voice shouted: "englischemans, surrender; if not, we shoots!" then the door was pushed open a little way, and a spiked helmet thrust forward on the muzzle of a rifle. finding that this emblem of german militarism was not the object of an attack, the lieutenant plucked up courage and dashed into the room, brandishing his sword and revolver like an eighteenth-century melodramatic pirate. after him crowded the sergeant and most of the men, two privates being left to guard madame hirondelle, in order that she would not be able to communicate with the supposed spies. kenneth was roughly seized by the throat. his hands were grasped and tied behind his back. the sergeant then proceeded to ransack his pockets, without discovering any documents, incriminating or otherwise. the unexpended portion of dick dacres's loan was taken possession of by the lieutenant, whose avidity in grabbing the money seemed to suggest that there was but slight possibility of it finding its way into the coffers of the imperial treasury. meanwhile rollo had been ordered to get out of bed. his clothes, after being searched and examined, were handed to him. other german soldiers were busily engaged in ransacking the room. the bed was uncovered, the mattress cut open in the vain hope of finding incriminating evidence; the contents of cupboards and drawers were turned out upon the floor, the prussians taking care to retain "souvenirs" of their exploit as they did so. greatly to his disgust and disappointment, the lieutenant's efforts to obtain proofs of the supposed spies' guilt were fruitless. he gave an order. soldiers surrounding the two lads urged them through the door and down the narrow stairs. determined to make a good haul, the officer ordered the arrest of madame hirondelle, the concierge, and the two maid-servants; then, with much sabre-rattling, he led the prisoners through the streets. a quarter of an hour later kenneth found himself alone in a gloomy cell. the prospect was not a pleasing one. even with a clear conscience as far as the charge of espionage went, the lad realized the terrible position in which he and rollo were placed. they were british subjects; they were not in uniform; they had no documents to prove the truth of their statement that they were corporals in the belgian army. there was no one, excepting the thoroughly-terrified madame hirondelle, to speak a word in their favour. for half an hour he paced the limited expanse of floor, pondering over the difficulties of the situation. then, without any thought of attempting an escape, he began examining the walls and floor of his cell. the place was roughly twenty feet in length and nine in breadth. the walls were of brick, set in hard, black cement. they had, at some previous time, been coated with yellow limewash, but most of the colour had been worn off. the floor was paved with irregular stone slabs. eight feet from the ground was a small unglazed window, with two rusty and slender vertical bars. opposite the window was the door of worm-eaten oak. the floor was half a dozen steps lower than the level of the ground without. a sentry was posted outside the window. although standing erect, the only part of him visible from within was from his knees to his belt, so kenneth knew that on that side the ground was about five or six feet above the floor of his cell. it also appeared likely that the room was not generally used as a place of confinement. it had no furniture. on the stone floor were wisps of straw and hay. it might, but for the steps from the doorway, have been used as a stable. "the germans don't surely mean to keep me in this rotten hole," thought kenneth. "it isn't fit for a dog." slowly the morning passed. at noon the sentry without was relieved. the sergeant's guard made no attempt to look through the window. the new sentry seemed ignorant of the presence of the english lad. there he stood, as rigid as a statue, while the minutes ran into hours. not once did the grey-coated soldier "walk his beat". no one passed by. the sentry was to all intents and purposes posted in a totally unnecessary position. just as the clocks chimed the hour of two, the door of the cell was opened and a sergeant and file of prussian infantrymen entered. silently the non-commissioned officer pointed to the open door. preceded and followed by the soldiers, kenneth set out to be tried for his life. chapter xxii the sack of louvain passing along several gloomy passages and ascending two flights of stairs, kenneth was ushered into a large, well-lighted room overlooking the city square. from without came the noise and bustle of hundreds of troops. several regiments, having recently arrived, were partaking of a meal in the open, the food being cooked in large portable kitchens, the smoke from which drifted in through the open windows of the room. seated at a massive oak desk was an officer in the uniform of the german general staff. behind him stood a major and two captains. at a writing desk against the wall, facing the windows, sat a military clerk. the soldiers of kenneth's escort lined up behind him, the sergeant standing rigidly at attention on his right. of rollo there were no signs. for some moments colonel von koenik, the president of the court, regarded the lad before him with a fixed glare. kenneth met the president's gaze unflinchingly, yet he realized that there was a menace in the german's manner. it was a hatred of england and of all men and things english. finding that he could not browbeat the prisoner, von koenik rasped out a few words to the major who stood behind him. with a stiff salute the latter advanced to the side of the president's desk. "what is your name, prisoner?" he asked in fairly good english, although there was a tendency to substitute the letter "b" for "p" in most of his words. kenneth told him. the major referred to a paper that he held in his hand. "you are english? what are you doing in brussels?" "i am a soldier in the belgian service." "in the belgian service perhaps; but a soldier--no, never." "pardon me, sir," protested kenneth; "i am a corporal of the 9th regiment of the line." the major waved his hand contemptuously. "you are not--what you call it?--ah!--bluffing an english magistrate this time. you have a prussian officer to deal with. if what you say is true, why are you not in uniform? where are your identity papers? say rather that you are in the employ of that arch-plotter grey; tell us exactly the truth, then perhaps we will be merciful." "of what offence am i accused, sir?" "espionage--surely you know that without asking an unnecessary question." "it is not true. i have never attempted to spy. who, sir, is my accuser?" "it is undesirable to mention names. our informant states that you have been several days in brussels, always in civilian clothes. you frequented public buildings; you were seen watching the arrival of our troops." "that i admit," said kenneth. "there was no secrecy about the ceremonial parade of the german army through the streets." "then perhaps you would tell your friends in england how the victorious germans will march through london, hein?" asked the major mockingly. "i'm afraid they won't," retorted kenneth, throwing discretion to the winds. "your troops have to reckon first with our army and then with our fleet." "your army? faint-hearted mercenaries. englishman, in less than a fortnight our troops will march right through the english and their friends the french, and be in paris. after that, london." "no fear!" ejaculated kenneth. the german major shrugged his shoulders. "it is wasting the time of the court," he remarked. "to return to the business in hand. you, an englishman, have been caught red-handed. you admit you are interested in military matters, although your claim to be a corporal in the belgian army does not hold. again, you admit that you took up arms against us?" "certainly--as a soldier, and strictly in accordance with the code of war." "your code is not our code," sneered the major. he then turned and addressed the president. colonel von koenik inclined his head, and gave an order to the sergeant of the guard. three men filed out, returning after a brief interval with rollo. limping badly, young barrington was marched across the room and placed by the side of his chum. the president stood up and removed his helmet. the other officers also uncovered. "accused," he said, speaking in english, "you are found guilty on a charge of espionage. the sentence is death." von koenik sat down and resumed his head-dress. he scanned the faces of the two lads, as if to detect signs of fear. but there were none. beyond an almost imperceptible tightening of the lips, the young britons received the grim intelligence unflinchingly. "but on account of your youth i am going to make what you english call a sporting offer. you"--addressing rollo--"expressed an opinion that our armies would never reach paris." "i did," replied rollo, whose examination had been concluded before kenneth had been brought before the court. "and you also"--to kenneth--"made a similar rash statement." "not rash, sir; but a candid statement." "very good. you will both find that you are in error. now, this is my offer. you will not be shot straight away. you will be kept in close confinement. as soon as paris is taken--as it will be in about a fortnight--your sentence will be put into execution. if within thirty days from now our armies should by some unprecedented accident fail to reach paris, your lives will be spared and your sentences commuted to ten years' imprisonment in a fortress. you comprehend?" von koenik broke off to exchange a few words in german with the major. then he resumed: "major hoffmann here will be answerable for your custody. so long as you give no trouble, and make no attempt to escape--such attempt will be bound to be a failure, let me add--you will be treated with as much consideration as it is possible to accord to convicted spies." again the president conferred with the major. then, stiffly saluting, major hoffmann gave an order. the soldiers closed around the two prisoners. with their heads held erect, kenneth and rollo were about to be marched from the presence of the grim colonel von koenik, when the latter rapped the desk with an ivory mallet. "of course," he added, "when our armies enter paris--about the 1st of september--you will accept the decree of fate? perhaps. but it is not pleasant to be confronted by the muzzles of a dozen rifles of a firing-party. there is one more chance. if you give us true and full information concerning certain points which will be raised later, the full penalty will be mitigated. you understand?" both kenneth and rollo began to protest, but von koenik silenced them. "you english are too fond of acting and thinking rashly on the spur of the moment," he exclaimed. "think it over--carefully. it is worth your calm deliberation." on being removed from the court, kenneth and rollo were placed in the same cell--the room in which the former had been kept pending his appearance at the farcical trial. colonel von koenik had no intention of carrying his threat into execution. he was one of those men who are firm believers in the application of methods of tyranny to gain their ends. kenneth everest had been denounced as a spy by the tobacconist of the rue de la tribune--himself a german secret agent. the information had to be acted upon, and rollo, living in the same house as the accused, had also been arrested. von koenik would not condemn a prisoner without conclusive evidence. he was convinced, mainly on the testimony of madame hirondelle, that neither kenneth nor rollo was a spy; at the same time they were englishmen, and that was sufficient to merit their detention. again, by intimidation or cajoling they might be able to furnish valuable information to the german authorities. since the informal sentence of death did not move the accused to beg for mercy, a slower and constantly terrifying method must be applied. the firm expressions on the forthcoming failure on the part of the germans to enter paris--an expression that both lads made independently of each other--gave von koenik an idea. on his part he was absolutely certain that no mortal power could arrest the victorious march of the kaiser's legions; and such was his obsession that he imagined both kenneth and rollo could have no inmost doubts on the matter. by proposing a "sporting offer", von koenik knew that his methods to terrorize would have time to work and undermine the resolution of the english lads. in a very few days, he decided, they would be willing to save themselves from a haunting dread by offering the information he desired. it was by no means a new experiment on the part of colonel von koenik. during his tenure of office in command of a line regiment in an alsatian town, he had frequently terrorized civilians who had fallen under his displeasure, by the application of methods based upon the legendary sword of damocles. hitherto this form of the tyranny of the mailed fist had been most successful; but it was different in the case of kenneth everest and rollo barrington. "what was that swashbuckler driving at, i wonder?" asked rollo, when the two chums found themselves alone in their cell. "do you think that he really intends to have us shot?" "i should say yes; only i don't understand why the sentence was not carried out at once. it is a low-down trick keeping us on tenterhooks; but from what we have already seen and heard, these germans--the prussians especially--do not draw the line at anything." "anyhow, the fellow thinks he's on a dead cert. on the paris trip. i don't; so if he's as good as his word on the month's grace we'll escape the firing-party. as for the ten years, that's nothing. we'll be liberated at the end of the war." "unless we 'break bounds' at the first opportunity," added kenneth. "we both seem to have been born under a lucky star, and having given those fellows the slip once, there is no reason why we shouldn't be equally successful the next time." the two following days the lads passed in uneventful captivity in the cell. straw had been provided for bedding, while their meals consisted of rye bread and water, and, once a day, a bowl of soup. for half an hour they were allowed to take exercise in an enclosed courtyard, four soldiers, carrying loaded rifles, having been told off to prevent any attempt at escape. on the morning of tuesday, the 25th of august, the prisoners were ordered to leave their cell. guided by the same four soldiers, they were marched into the courtyard, where a dozen belgian civilians were formed up under an armed guard. in a doorway opening into the quadrangle stood major hoffmann, watching the proceedings with a supercilious air. "are they going to shoot the crowd of us?" whispered kenneth; but before rollo could reply, a sergeant gave the speaker a violent blow and sternly ordered him in french to be silent. the names of the prisoners were then called out, each man having to answer to his name. this done, the sergeant in charge took the list to major hoffmann, who initialled the document and returned it. then the large gates at one end of the courtyard were thrown open, and the prisoners, surrounded by their armed guards, were ordered to march. along the chaussée de louvain--one of the principal thoroughfares of brussels--the melancholy procession passed. there were crowds of people about in addition to the numerous german troops. the citizens regarded their compatriots under arrest with suppressed feelings. they were afraid to make any demonstration of sympathy. the iron heel of germany had crushed the spirit out of the belgians who still remained in the fallen capital. "do you know where they are taking us to?" asked kenneth of the prisoner marching next to him, evidently a well-to-do business man before the great calamity that had overtaken him. "they say to germany, there to work in the fields and help to feed our enemies," replied the man. "at all events, we have to march to louvain and be entrained there." kenneth's great fear was that rollo would be unable to stand the strain of the long march. his ankle had improved, but he still limped slightly. "i'm all right," replied rollo cheerily, in response to his chum's anxious enquiry. "it's better than being cooped up in that rotten hole. besides," he added in a whisper, "we may get a chance of giving them the slip." so far the information given by the belgian seemed to be correct. the prisoners were trudging along the highway leading to louvain. beyond that point, railway communication was now possible; for with their advance upon brussels the german engineers had lost no time in repairing the lines and erecting temporary bridges in place of those sacrificed by the belgians in their efforts to impede the enemy's advance. at twelve o'clock the prisoners reached the village of cortenburg, about half-way between the capital and louvain. here they were halted, and driven into a church. for food and drink they had to depend upon the charity of the villagers, who, notwithstanding the fact that they had been despoiled by the invaders, gave the famished and travel-worn men bread and milk. for three hours kenneth and his companions in adversity were kept under lock and key, while their escort, having obtained copious quantities of wine, were becoming boisterously merry. when, at length, the order was given to resume the march, some of the soldiers were so drunk that they could not stand. the sergeant thereupon ordered the villagers to provide two carts, and in these, lying on bundles of straw, the besotted men followed their comrades. before the prisoners had covered a mile beyond cortenburg an open motor-car dashed past. in spite of its great speed both kenneth and rollo recognized its occupants. they were colonel von koenik and major hoffmann. "they don't mean to get out of touch with us, old man," remarked kenneth, after the car had disappeared in a cloud of dust. "i suppose they'll go on by train to whatever distance we are bound for. i'll warrant they'll be waiting at louvain." "i wish i had the chance of bagging that motor-car," said rollo. "it's a beauty. we'd be in antwerp in less than an hour." "instead of which we're tramping along, with a dozen of more or less intoxicated soldiers to keep an eye on us," added kenneth. "i believe if we made a bolt for it they would be too tipsy to aim properly." "it's too risky," declared rollo. "there are hundreds of german troops scattered all over this part of the country. besides, if we did get away, the other prisoners would get a rough time. what's that?" "rifle-firing," replied kenneth, as the rattle of musketry could be faintly heard, the sounds coming from the north. "a battle before antwerp, probably," suggested rollo. "the germans will have a stiff task if----" a vicious box on the ear from the nearest soldier brought the conversation to a sudden close. the fellow who dealt the blow grinned with intense satisfaction at his deed. the next instant rollo's fist shot out straight from the shoulder, and the german dropped like a log. he was too drunk to feel the blow, so he sat on the road, his rifle on the ground, holding his jaw with both hands and bawling in pot-valiant style. taking advantage of the momentary confusion, two of the belgian prisoners made a dash for liberty. one was the man to whom kenneth had spoken--a short, stout, apoplectic individual; the other a tall, lean fellow who had the appearance of a trained athlete. before the astonished germans could level their rifles both men had got across a wide ditch, and had placed a hundred yards of marshy ground between them and their late captors. then half a dozen rifles rang out, but the fugitives held on, the taller one having established a lead of twenty yards. they were making for a wood, not more than a quarter of a mile off. again and again the germans fired. the lads could see some of the bullets kicking up spurts of dirt a long way wide of their mark; others must have sung harmlessly overhead. suddenly the short man stopped. he could run no farther. he called to his companion; but the latter, taking no heed, did not slacken his swift pace. the corpulent fugitive looked over his shoulder, and seeing that some of the germans had attempted pursuit, began to walk after his compatriot. the fact that the soldiers had missed him at short range had given him confidence. presently the tall belgian gained the outskirts of the wood. here he stopped, and waved his arms with a contemptuous gesture at the german soldiers. it was his undoing, for by sheer chance a bullet struck him in the head. he pitched on his face and lay motionless. the other man, alternately walking and running, got clear away. the english lads now had their turn. they were kicked, prodded with rifle-butts, and repeatedly struck by the fists of the infuriated, half-drunken soldiers, till the sergeant, fearing that he might get into serious trouble if colonel von koenik's special prisoners were much injured, ordered his men to desist. two of them were sent to bring the body of the foolhardy belgian. dead or alive the whole of the prisoners had to be accounted for, and the fact that one was missing caused the sergeant considerable misgivings. meanwhile the sound of distant firing still continued. if anything it seemed nearer. the german escort began to hurry their prisoners along. a mile or so farther on they reached a small village. here most of the inhabitants had left, but a few gazed timorously upon the grey-coated soldiers from the upper windows of their houses. the sergeant gave the order to halt, then spoke hurriedly to two of his men who were not so intoxicated as the rest. these two walked up to a door and knocked. receiving no reply, they shattered the woodwork with their rifles and entered the house. in less than a minute they reappeared, dragging between them a peasant so old and feeble that he could hardly walk. him they bundled into the cart beside the body of the dead belgian, and the convoy resumed its way. "the brutes!" ejaculated kenneth. "i see their game. they're going to palm off that poor peasant as the man that escaped." "it seems like it," agreed rollo; "but what will happen when they read the roll-call? it will give the show away." "trust those fellows for carrying out a dirty piece of work. hist!" the lads relapsed into silence. they did not want a repetition of the scene when their last conversation was interrupted. already they were bruised from head to foot. shortly before six in the evening the prisoners reached the outskirts of louvain. the town, the principal seat of learning of belgium, was, of course, in the hands of the germans; but hitherto they had refrained from any vandalism. according to their usual procedure they had terrorized the inhabitants, who still remained in fear and trembling. everywhere were placards in french and flemish, warning the townsfolk that any act of hostility towards the german troops would result in severe penalties. with the examples of the fate of other towns and villages--where the luckless inhabitants, in defence of their lives and homes, had ventured to resist the invaders and had been ruthlessly massacred--the people of louvain had rigidly abstained from any action that could be regarded as aggressive to german authority. on their part the invaders behaved fairly well, and confidence was beginning to be restored amongst the belgians who still remained in louvain. suddenly a shot rang out, quickly followed by others. bullets screeched over the heads of the prisoners and their german guards. in a few moments all was confusion. the prisoners flung themselves on the ground to escape the deadly missiles. some of the escort followed their example. others, kneeling behind the two wagons that brought up the rear of the procession, returned the fire. "good!" ejaculated kenneth. "louvain has been recaptured. that accounts for the firing we heard this afternoon." "i trust so," replied rollo. "there's one fellow down--another rascal the less." it was the german who had received a taste of a british fist. rendered incautious in his maudlin state, he had recklessly exposed himself. a bullet passing through his chest laid him dead on the spot. another german was leaning against the wheel of a wagon, with his hand clapped to his right shoulder. just then the sergeant caught sight of the troops who were blazing away at his party. with a succession of oaths he bade his men cease fire. here was another blunder. the germans were firing at each other. at length the exchange of shots ceased. a prussian officer, accompanied by half a dozen of his men, advanced to meet the prisoners and their escort. his face was purple with fury. for ten minutes he bullied and browbeat the luckless sergeant, whose men had not been responsible for opening fire. then other officers--members of the staff--hurried up, and a hasty consultation followed. presently colonel von koenik tore up in his motorcar. he was accompanied by another staff-officer, major von manteuffel, whose name was presently to be execrated throughout the civilized world. von manteuffel was in a high pitch of nervous excitement. evidently he was trying to fix the blame upon the men escorting the belgian prisoners, while von koenik, cool and calculating, championed their cause. kenneth and rollo watched the scene with well-concealed satisfaction. the mere fact that some small portion of the mechanism of the mailed fist had gone wrong elated them. it was an insight into the blustering methods of german military organization; but they had yet to learn that the bullies of europe had a drastic remedy for their errors, whereby the penalty fell upon the weak and helpless. von koenik gave an order, the sergeant bundled rollo and kenneth into an isolated house situated about half a kilometre from the town. what befell the belgian prisoners the lads never knew, but from the window in the upper room in which they were confined, the british youths could command a fairly-extensive view of louvain and the road which approached it. two german soldiers were locked in the room, but they offered no objection when kenneth and rollo went to the window. above the tiled roofs of the houses, the ancient and venerable church of st. pierre shot up like an island in the centre of a lake. other buildings--churches, the hôtel de ville, and the university--were slightly less conspicuous, yet clearly discernible above the expanse of houses. along the road were hundreds of grey-coated troops, while a small black patch in that long-drawn-out riband of silver-grey indicated the position of the way-worn band of belgian prisoners, who were now almost within the limits of the town. while the british lads were at the window, then german guards produced from their knapsacks some pieces of roll, sausages, and a bottle of wine. soon the room was filled with the disagreeable sounds of teutonic mastication, which, unless one has had the misfortune to hear it, cannot satisfactorily be described. kenneth and rollo, thanking their lucky stars that they were not compelled to witness the performance, remained at the window. suddenly, just as the town clocks were chiming the hour of six, a succession of shots rang out. "good!" ejaculated kenneth. "the belgians are driving home an attack." the two germans gave not the slightest hint of alarm, but stolidly continued their meal. their indifference caused the lads to wonder. it was not a conflict between two armed forces, but a massacre! it was the commencement of what was, in the words of the prime minister of great britain, "the greatest crime against civilization and culture since the thirty years' war". fortunately kenneth and his companion were spared the horrors of having to witness the indiscriminate shooting of luckless civilians, but, from their coign of vantage, they were spectators of the scene of destruction that followed. tall, lurid flames burst forth from the centre of the town of louvain. gradually the ever-widening circle of fire spread till the bulk of the houses was one vast holocaust. throughout that terrible night the lads remained at the window, watching the progress of the conflagration and listening to the shrieks of panic and terror from the brutally-maltreated inhabitants. that was von manteuffel's method of covering up the blunder made by his half-drunken troops. chapter xxiii a bolt from the blue at seven the following morning the two guards were relieved. during the night they had been stolidly indifferent to everything that was taking place. they permitted their prisoners liberty of action within the limits of the room, but they maintained a ceaseless vigilance, keeping their loaded rifles within arm's-length the whole of the time. the new guards were men of a different stamp. their first act upon being left with their charges was to compel the lads to leave the window and take up a position in one corner of the room. at the first attempt at conversation between the two chums the germans would shout threats which, although unintelligible as words, left no doubt as to their significance. an hour later a very meagre repast was brought in for the prisoners, the soldiers making a thorough examination of the food before the lads were allowed to partake of it. this was a precautionary measure, lest some communication might have been secreted; but the fact that their food had been coarsely handled by the germans did not make it any the more appetizing. nevertheless kenneth and his companion, now almost famished, attacked the meal with avidity. just before noon a motor-car drew up outside the house. the guards sprang to their feet, adjusted the straps of their equipment, seized their rifles, and drew themselves up as stiff as ramrods. the expected arrival they knew to be a person of consequence. it was colonel von koenik. he was civil, almost apologetic, to the english prisoners. "i trust that you were not disturbed by last night's business," he remarked. "there was a serious riot amongst the belgian townsfolk. our troops were treacherously attacked, and in self-defence they were compelled to fire some of the houses. unfortunately the flames spread considerably, in spite of our efforts to the contrary. "if you wish to write to your friends in england," he continued, "you are at liberty to do so, and i will see that the letters are forwarded to holland. paper and writing materials will be provided. you will understand that all communications must be left unsealed." he paused for a moment, then in more deliberate tones said: "it would doubtless be interesting to your fellow-countrymen if you mentioned last night's riot. englishmen are supposed to pride themselves upon their love of fair play. our act of necessary--absolutely necessary--self-defence will certainly be distorted by these belgians. the written evidence of two englishmen such as yourselves will do much to remove a wrong impression. meanwhile, until writing materials can be produced, you are at liberty to take exercise in the garden." "what is that fellow driving at?" asked rollo, when the two chums, still watched by their guards, found themselves in a secluded garden enclosed on three sides by a high brick wall. "there's something behind his eagerness for us to write home." "we'll take the chance anyway," replied kenneth; "only i vote we make no mention of last night's affair. of course his version might be right, but i doubt it." accordingly the prisoners spent half an hour in writing to their respective parents. the epistles were couched in guarded terms. there was nothing to indicate that they had been harshly treated; no mention of the manner of their arrest. nor was there a word about the destructive fire in louvain. when the colonel reappeared the unsealed envelopes were handed to him. without a word or a gesture he read them through, then wrote something on the envelopes. "these are in order, gentlemen," he remarked. "you may now seal them, and they will be carefully forwarded." but months later the chums learnt that the letters had never been delivered. there was a good reason, for von koenik took the first opportunity of destroying them. "there is some news for you," remarked the colonel. "yesterday our armies occupied namur. the forts were helpless against our wonderful siege guns. our zeppelins have destroyed nearly the whole of antwerp; our fleet has signally defeated the british in the north sea. your flagship, the _iron duke_, is sunk, together with seven dreadnoughts. jellicoe is slain, and the rest of the english fleet is bottled up in the forth. your little army in belgium is already on the retreat; it will be hopelessly smashed before it reaches maubeuge. our troops will be in paris within a week--and then?" the colonel paused, expecting to see dismay painted on the faces of his listeners. instead, kenneth coolly raised his eyebrows. "indeed?" he drawled. "do you, herr colonel, really believe all that?" von koenik suppressed a gesture of annoyance. "certainly," he replied. "it is in our official reports. if you possessed sufficient culture to be in a position to read and speak our language, you could see it with your own eyes. we are winning everywhere. now, perhaps, to save further unpleasantness you will tell me the actual reason why you were in the belgian service?" "merely our inclination to help in a just cause. we happened to be on the spot, the opportunity occurred, and we took it." the colonel bit his lips. he was confident that the prisoners were actually persons of military importance, sent over to belgium by the british government, and possessing valuable information concerning the allies' plan of campaign. he considered it well worth his while to cajole or threaten them into surrendering their secret, but, up to the present, he was forced to admit that his attempts had met with very little success. apart from the lax code of german military morals his procedure had been extremely irregular. the so-called trial was before an illegally constituted court. the proper authorities had not been informed of the englishmen's arrest, trial, and sentence. yet he considered that he was furthering the interests of the kaiser and the german nation by wresting the secret of the object of the lads' presence in belgium from them by the likeliest methods at his disposal. colonel von koenik was on his way to take up a staff appointment at verviers, a strategically important belgian town on the german frontier, and a few miles from liége, and on the direct railway line between that city and aix-la-chapelle. here he could keep his prisoners in safety, relying upon the wearing-down tactics, backed by the threat of what would happen when the victorious germans entered paris, to compel the two englishmen to surrender their supposed important secret. it was not until after dark that same day that kenneth and rollo were conveyed in a closed carriage to the railway station at louvain. von koenik was greatly anxious to conceal from them the stupendous amount of wanton damage done to the town. so far he succeeded; and, in partial ignorance of the fate of louvain and the actual causes that led to its sack and destruction, the lads were escorted to a troop-train which was about to return to aix, laden with wounded german soldiers whose fighting days were over. for the next ten or twelve days kenneth and rollo existed in a state of rigorous captivity. they were placed in a small store-room of the commissariat department at verviers. a sentry was posted without, but otherwise their privacy was not intruded upon except when a soldier brought their meals. this man, a corporal of the landwehr, was a grey-haired fellow nearly sixty years of age. a great portion of his life had been spent in england. von koenik had detailed him to attend upon the prisoners in order that he might communicate to them the progress of the victorious germans towards paris. max--for that was the corporal's name--was admirably adapted to the purpose. he could speak english with tolerable fluency; he implicitly believed all the stories that had been told him of the wide-world german success, and, believing, he retailed the information with such bland fidelity that at first his listeners had to think that he really was speaking the truth. he was also genuinely attentive to his charges, and before long kenneth and rollo appreciated his visits although they did not welcome the news he brought. "ach, you english boys!" he would exclaim. they were always addressed as "english boys" by corporal max, somewhat to their chagrin. "ach! it has been a bad day for your little army. much more bad than yesterday. to-day the remains of the english army, it has fled towards paris. our taubes have almost nearly the city destroyed by bombs." the next day max would appear with the tidings that general french was still running away. vast numbers of english and french prisoners had been taken. the german losses had been insignificant. this was followed by a lurid description of the retreat of the allies across the marne and then over the aisne. "paris, too, is in panic. the french government, it has run away to the south of france. and our navy, it is great. yesterday a sea battle took place. the admiral jellicoe's flagship the _iron duke_ was sunk by our submarines----" "hold on!" exclaimed kenneth. "colonel von koenik told us that the _iron duke_ was sunk more than a fortnight ago." max shrugged his shoulders. "you english are so deceitful. ach! they must have given to another ship the same name. dover is in flames, and london bombarded has been by our zeppelins. ireland is revolted, and the irish have proclaimed our kaiser as king----" "steady, max!" exclaimed rollo expostulatingly. "but it is so," protested the corporal. the next day max's report was one of indefinite progress. during the three following he made no mention of the brilliant feats of german arms. kenneth rallied him on this point. "how far are the germans from paris to-day, max?" for the first time max showed signs of irritability. by accident he had seen in colonel von koenik's quarters a report of the check of the german armies' progress, and of their eastward movement. following this came the news of von kluck's defeat and disorderly retirement across the marne. too stupidly honest to keep the news to himself, corporal max blurted out the information that the advance upon paris had been temporarily abandoned. "if it were not for the treacherous english," he added--"they are always meddling with other nations' business--we would have walked through the french and in paris have been. peace would be forced upon the french, and then i could return home to my wife." "but you told us that the british army was practically annihilated, max," exclaimed kenneth gleefully. "you english boys, i tell you word for word what was told me," protested max in high dudgeon. "if you mock, then no more will i say." "can we see colonel von koenik, max?" the corporal looked at kenneth in astonishment. "you have no complaint against me?" he asked. "not in the least," replied kenneth affably. "but we should very much like to see the colonel." max delivered the message, but von koenik did not put in an appearance. incidentally he discovered that the corporal had let out the momentous news of von kluck's defeat, and max had a very warm quarter of an hour in consequence. as a result, a surly prussian was given the work of looking after the two english prisoners, and max passed out of the lads' knowledge. september had well advanced. kenneth and rollo still existed in captivity, without the faintest opportunity of effecting their escape. had there been the slightest chance of breaking out of their prison they would have taken it, but the vigilance of the sentries posted outside the place seemed untiring. about the twentieth of the month--the lads had lost all accurate idea of the date--there were signs of more than usual activity in verviers. a cavalry brigade had arrived, accompanied by a huge transport column. from the solitary window of their room the prisoners were able to witness many of the movements of the troops. the square in front of the range of stores was packed with transport wagons, both motor and horse. the horses were picketed in lines between the regular rows of vehicles. the drivers stood by their charges, instead of being billeted on the inhabitants. everything pointed to a hurriedly resumed journey. presently kenneth and his chum noticed that the germans were deeply interested in something above and beyond the storehouse in which the lads were quartered. a few men would point skywards, others would follow their example, till every soldier in the square was gazing in the air. then above the hum of suppressed excitement came the unmistakable buzz of an aerial propeller. "air-craft!" ejaculated kenneth. "taubes, most likely," added his companion; "otherwise the troops would be blazing away instead of merely looking on." the words were hardly out of his mouth when the scene underwent a complete change. horses plunged and reared, some falling and kicking madly on the ground. men ran hither and thither, seeking shelter, while several of them pitched upon their faces. yet not a sound was heard of an explosion. a mysterious and silent death was stalking amidst the german transport. overhead the drone of the propeller increased, yet the aeroplane was invisible from the lads' outlook. something struck the stones of the courtyard a few feet from their window. it was a small featherless steel arrow, one of thousands that a french aviator had let loose upon the astonished and terrified germans. simultaneously there was a crash in the room. turning, the occupants made the discovery that three of the darts had completely penetrated the tiles of the roof and had buried themselves three inches deep in the oaken floor. "keep close to the wall," exclaimed kenneth; "it is the safest place." "it's all over now," announced rollo after a brief interval. "there she goes!" he pointed to a monoplane gliding gracefully at an altitude of about five hundred feet. he could just distinguish a tricolour painted on each tip of the main plane. a desultory but increasing rifle-fire announced its departure, and, unruffled, the air-craft sailed serenely out of sight. "pretty effective weapon," remarked kenneth, vainly endeavouring to wrench one of the darts from the floor. "they must hit with terrific force. i wonder how they were discharged?" "simply dropped by the hundred, i should imagine," replied rollo. "the force of gravity is sufficient to give them a tremendous velocity after dropping a few hundred feet. i guess they've knocked these fellows' time-table out." the drivers and several cavalrymen had now emerged from their hiding-places, and were carrying their less-fortunate comrades from the scene. a few of the latter were moaning, but most of them had been slain outright. the "flechettes", or steel darts, had in several cases struck their victims on the head, and had passed completely through their bodies. in addition to about thirty casualties, nearly a hundred horses were either killed on the spot or were so badly injured that they had to be dispatched. several of the motor-wagons, too, were temporarily disabled by the terrible missiles. clearly it was out of the question that the convoy could proceed that day. darkness set in. the work of repairing the damaged vehicles still proceeded briskly by the aid of the powerful acetylene lamps fixed upon the parapets of the surrounding buildings. fresh animals were being brought up to take the horse-wagons away, in order to make room for the artificers to proceed with their work. the square echoed and re-echoed to the clanging of hammers and the rasping of saws, and the guttural exclamations of the workmen. kenneth and rollo had no thoughts of going to bed. usually, as soon as it was dark they would throw themselves upon their straw mattresses, for lights were not allowed them. but now the excitement, increased by contrast to their monotonous existence, banished all idea of sleep. crash! a blaze of vivid light that out-brillianced the concentrated glare of the lamps flashed skywards, followed almost immediately by a deafening report. windows were shattered, tiles flew from the roofs. the walls of the room in which the two lads were standing shook violently. "a shell!" exclaimed rollo. "a bomb!" corrected kenneth, for in the brief lull that followed could be heard the noise of an air-craft. either the same or another french airman was honouring the germans at verviers with a second visit. twenty seconds later another explosion occurred at the back of the building. with a terrific crash one of the outer walls was blown in; a portion of the roof collapsed; the floor, partially ripped up, swayed like the deck of a vessel in the trough of an angry sea. kenneth found himself on the floor, rendered temporarily deaf and covered with fragments of plaster and broken tiles, and smothered in dust. staggering to his feet he groped for his companion, for the place was in total darkness, the force of the detonation having extinguished all the lamps in the vicinity. his hand came in contact with rollo's hair. "steady on, old man; don't scalp me," expostulated barrington. "what do you say?" asked his companion. rollo repeated the protest, shouting in order to enable kenneth to hear what he said. "hurt?" "not a bit of it; but we may be if we hang on here." another fall of rafters and tiles confirmed the speaker's surmise; then, as the cloud of acrid smoke and dust slowly dispersed, they could see a patch of starlight where a few moments before had been a blank wall. chapter xxiv across the frontier kenneth regained his feet. "let's shift," he said. "where?" "anywhere. be steady; mind where you tread, and look out for brick-bats falling on your head." the caution was well needed. stumbling over the mass of shattered brickwork, the lads passed through the jagged gap and gained an open space to the rear of a long range of storehouses. even as they did so another bomb exploded, this time some distance off, though the concussion was sufficient to complete the destruction of the room in which they had been but a few moments previously. not only in the square but all over the town a state of panic existed. the terrified horses stampeded; the german troops, temporarily thrown into disorder, ran for shelter; while those of the civil population who did not take refuge in their cellars poured out into the streets and fled towards the open country. "rollo, old man, let's make a dash for it." the idea of taking advantage of the air raid in order to effect their escape had not until that moment entered kenneth's head. both he and rollo, temporarily dazed by the explosion, had thought only of getting clear of the subsiding building. everything was in their favour. scaling a low brick wall, they found themselves in the company of about forty panic-stricken inhabitants. in the confusion no one noticed the two hatless lads, for before they had gone fifty yards they ran past a squad of german troops, who, under the threats of their officers, were engaged in coupling up a hose to play upon a fire kindled by the explosion of one of the destructive missiles. "keep with the crowd," advised rollo. "we're safe enough. the monoplane has made off by this time." the street emerged into a wide thoroughfare, where the throng of people was greatly increased; but after a while, finding that there were no more detonations, the crowd began to thin, many of the townsfolk returning to their homes. a few, however, numbering perhaps forty, unable to control their fear, ran blindly towards the open country, and with them went the two british lads. "it's about time we struck a line for ourselves," whispered kenneth. "not yet; we'll stick to the main road," said his companion. "these people know their way; we don't, and it's no fun blundering across ditches and marshy fields on a night like this. i wish we had our coats." "being without them is an inducement to keep on the move," remarked everest. "if we have to stand about or hide anywhere it will be a numbing business. the question is, what's our plan?" "keep as far as possible in a northerly or northwesterly direction after we find ourselves alone. that ought to land us in dutch territory before morning. it's only a matter of twenty miles." "and if we are held up?" "then we must hide during the day. it wouldn't be worth a dog's chance to fall in with any germans." the lads had been conversing in french, lest their whispers should be overheard by the hurrying crowd. amongst that number of belgians there might be a spy, and the incautious use of english would be fatal to the enterprise. but before two miles had been traversed the two british lads were alone. the rest of the crowd, finding that the explosions had entirely ceased, had either retraced their steps or had awaited possible developments. taking their direction by means of the position of the north star, for the night was now quite cloudless, the fugitives pushed on. they had no fear of pursuit, since, by the demolition of their place of detention, the german authorities were bound to come to the conclusion that their prisoners had been buried under the ruins. it was too hazardous to attempt to follow the road farther. from their local knowledge the lads knew that it led to julimont and visé, and that the valley of the meuse, especially on the dutch frontier, would be strictly guarded. "railway ahead!" whispered kenneth. outlined against the starry sky was a low embankment, fringed with the characteristic telegraph poles of the belgian state railways. directly in their path was a culvert, on the top of which were the silhouetted figures of three greatcoated soldiers. on the other side of the embankment a fire was burning brightly, its glare alone betraying its position. the fugitives promptly retraced their steps for nearly two hundred yards, then striking off at right angles kept parallel to, and at a fairly safe distance from, the railway line. "we'll have to cross that line," whispered kenneth. "it runs between liége and aix, i believe." "let's hope the whole extent of it isn't guarded." "only the bridge and culverts; but you can take it for granted that they patrol between the various posts of sentries. carry on, old man; another half a mile and we'll try again." a short distance farther the fugitives encountered the main road from liége to the german town of aix-la-chapelle. it was quite deserted, but beyond it they had to turn slightly to the right to avoid the railway, which ran in a north-easterly direction. "why not have a shot at it?" asked kenneth. "not yet. it will run in a northerly direction again. i noticed that in the map. we must cross, if possible, somewhere to the south of aubel. it is still early in the evening. the nearer midnight we make the attempt the better." it was now bitterly cold. a hard frost made the ground like iron. since it was too hazardous to proceed at a rapid pace, the lads felt the piercing air accordingly. with their shoulders hunched and their ungloved hands thrust deeply into their pockets, they kept on, shivering in spite of the fact that in the excitement of regaining their liberty--temporarily, at any rate--their nerves were a-tingle and the blood surged rapidly through their veins. "what's that ahead?" whispered kenneth. "men?" the lads peered through the darkness. fifty yards ahead were several upright objects at regular intervals, looking exactly like an extended line of soldiers. "germans!" whispered rollo. "lie down." they threw themselves upon the frozen ground and kept the objects under observation. before long the effect of their recumbent positions in contact with the earth became painful. rollo got to his knees. "i'll go a little nearer," he whispered. "you stay here. they don't seem to be moving." "i'll come too," whispered kenneth in reply. "no, you don't. one might escape notice where two might not. i'll be very cautious." kenneth remained. he could just discern the form of his chum as he slowly and carefully approached the line of mysterious objects. presently he saw rollo regain his feet and walk towards him. "it's all right," announced harrington. "they are a row of alders." his companion arose, slowly and stiffly. he had to swing his arms vigorously for some minutes to warm his chilled body. "let's get on," he said. "getting on" was not an easy matter, for upon arriving at the row of trees the lads found that they lined the bank of a sluggish stream, too broad to leap across and too deep to wade. already thin ice had formed upon its surface. swimming under these conditions might be performed, but the undertaking required a lot of pluck on a night like this. furthermore, there was the after-effect to take into consideration. "now, what's to be done?" asked kenneth. for once, at least, he realized that his impetuosity failed him, and that he must rely upon the calmer, deliberate, and perhaps over-cautious counsels of his chum. "cross dry-shod," replied rollo. "we must follow the bank up-stream until we find a means of crossing. not a recognized bridge--that would almost to a certainty be guarded--but a plank thrown across for the use of some farmer. it's no use wasting time here." he stopped suddenly. from behind the shelter of one of the trees a tall, dark figure advanced swiftly and unhesitatingly. the fugitives' first impulse was to take to their heels, but before they had recovered sufficiently from their surprise a voice exclaimed: "what cheer, mates! what might you be doing here?" arrested by the sound of an unmistakable english voice, the lads held their ground. kenneth, with studious politeness, said: "we are pleased to make your acquaintance," and then felt inclined, in spite of his physical discomforts, to laugh at the absurdity of his remark. the man held out his hand. kenneth grabbed it cordially. as he did so he noticed that the stranger was dressed almost in rags. he wore a battered slouch hat, a cloak that reached to his knees, and trousers so short in the leg that there was a gap between the foot of them and his grey socks. on his feet he wore a pair of sabots. "what might you be doing here?" he repeated. "trying to regain our regiment," replied rollo. "same here. what's yours?" "the 9th regiment of the line." the man glanced suspiciously at his informant. "never heard of it," he declared. "mine's the northumberland fusiliers--'quo fata vocant' is our motto, and strikes me fate has led me a pretty dance. the 9th regiment of the line?" "of the belgian army," explained kenneth, for the man's declaration sounded like a challenge. "we're british volunteer dispatch-riders--corporals." "same here; i'm a corporal, unless i'm officially dead. but that's neither here nor there. question is, where am i?" "in belgium, not so very far from liége." "that's a blessing. it's a relief to know i'm not on rotten german soil. but it's a long, long way to tipperary." "what do you mean?" asked kenneth in astonishment. the northumberland fusilier also betrayed surprise. "you've not heard that song? well, where have you been to? but let's be on the move. it's cold enough, in all conscience, without standing still to be frozen. where are you making for?" "the dutch frontier--it's only about five or six miles off," replied rollo. "not this child," declared the man vehemently. "so we part company, chums." "why?" asked kenneth. "i'm trying to rejoin my regiment. as for being interned in holland, i'm not having any." "you won't be interned; you're in mufti. have you any idea how far you'll have to tramp? across belgium and a part of france--every mile of the way held by the enemy. where are the british now?" "pushing the germans back from paris, chum; that's what they were doing when i got copped." "we were told that the british army was annihilated." "some rotten german yarn," exclaimed the corporal contemptuously. "take it from me, as one who knows, the germans have bitten off more than they can chew. but is that right that the dutchmen won't keep us till the end of the war?" "certainly, provided you are not in uniform." "that settles it, then," declared the man. "by the right--slow march. there's a plank bridge a little way farther up-stream." this obstacle having been surmounted, the three fugitives made in a northerly direction. only once in half an hour did the northumberland fusilier break the silence. "got any tommy?" he asked. "any grub?" "not a crumb." "rough luck! i haven't had a bite for sixteen hours or more, and my belt's in the last notch." "how far have you come?" asked rollo. "goodness only knows. aching's the name of the show." "aching?" repeated kenneth in perplexity. "yes, aching," replied the man vehemently. "a fitting name, too. a-a-c-h-e-n, it's spelt, so there!" the lads understood. he had spelt the german name for the town of aix-la-chapelle. his progress, then, had been very slow--sixteen hours to cover about twelve miles. "that's aubel," whispered kenneth, pointing to a group of houses showing up against the sky. "we must cross the line here." a hurried consultation followed, in which it was decided that kenneth should take the lead, the others following at twenty paces interval. as they approached the line of telegraph posts kenneth made his way ahead and dropped on his hands and knees. in this position he covered the hundred yards that separated him from the railway. he listened. there was no mistaking the sound he heard. the noise of heavily-nailed boots treading slowly upon the frosty permanent-way was drawing nearer. the lad crawled back to his chum, and both threw themselves flat upon the ground. the northumberland man did likewise. presently two greatcoated figures came into view; german soldiers with rifles on their shoulders. the pale light glinted on the fixed bayonets. when opposite the spot where the fugitives were hiding, the guards stopped, grounded their weapons, and swung their arms. in spite of their heavy coats they were chilled to the bone. the germans showed no haste in proceeding on their patrol. to the shivering englishmen it seemed as if they were deliberately prolonging their stay. in spite of his frantic efforts the northumberland fusilier gave vent to a half-smothered cough. almost simultaneously the germans recovered their arms and fired in the direction of the hiding trio. suppressing an insane desire to break away and run for dear life, the three lay still. if the patrol had heard any suspicious sound they did not act further upon it, for after a few more minutes they sloped arms and tramped stolidly in the direction of aubel. once again kenneth crawled towards the railway. the way was now clear. without being challenged he crossed the rails, and dropped down the embankment beyond. here he was speedily joined by his companions. a little later, to their consternation, clouds began to gather. it was no longer possible to follow a course by the stars. it became darker, and prominent objects could not be distinguished. all around there were untilled fields, as like each other as peas in a pod. half an hour's wandering convinced the fugitives that they were hopelessly out of their bearings, for the wind had fallen utterly, and even that means of keeping a rough course failed them. "ten to one we're walking in a big circle," declared rollo. "the best thing we can do is to slow down till dawn." "another seven hours," objected the fusilier. "we'll be dead with cold by that time. let's step out and trust to luck." "there's a barn or something, right ahead," announced kenneth after they had traversed two fields. "i vote we make for that and take shelter." the building was a detached one. closer investigation showed that it was deserted. the door had been wrenched from its hinges and lay about five yards from the wall. in one angle of the brickwork was a gaping hole. the walls had been loopholed for rifle-fire, but the thatched roof was practically intact. "steady!" cautioned the british corporal. "there might be somebody inside." he led the way, shuffling noiselessly with his feet and holding his arm in a position of defence. having completed a tour of the interior, he announced that it was safe to enter. the floor was dry, but destitute of hay or straw. taking off his peasant's cloak the corporal spread it upon the ground, and on it the three huddled together for mutual warmth. already kenneth and rollo were weak with hunger, cold, and fatigue. their companion's chief regret was that he had no tobacco. hunger, although severe, was with him a secondary consideration. in this position they remained in a semi-dazed condition until the northumberland man announced that dawn was breaking. with difficulty regaining their feet, the two lads moved their cramped limbs till they were conscious of the sense of touch. then out into the bitterly cold air they went. "that's our course," said the corporal. "this time of year the sun rises in the north-east, so this is about north." "then it's exactly the opposite direction to which we were going last night," remarked rollo. "you can tell that by the position of the barn." "yes, we must have been circling," agreed kenneth. "we may yet be miles from the frontier." on and on they trudged, guided by the gleam of light that was gradually growing in intensity. detached farm-houses were now visible, affording landmarks which, although serviceable, had to be avoided. "i'd do a burglaring job without a moment's hesitation," declared the corporal, "only it's too jolly risky. liberty isn't worth chucking away for the sake of a chunk of bread; at least, i don't think so. yet dozens of germans have given themselves up to our chaps because they felt a bit hungry." his companions agreed, but half-heartedly. hunger, the ally of despair, was pressing them hard. they missed the plain but substantial meals that their captors had provided them with at verviers. suddenly, from behind them, came a hoarse shout. turning, the three fugitives saw, to their consternation, that about a dozen german soldiers were following them and were now about four hundred yards behind. "cut for it!" exclaimed the corporal. they broke into a steady run. the action was a relief after hours of slow trudging and sleepless, comfortless rest. their pursuers also increased their pace, shouting for them to stop. "we're holding our own," exclaimed kenneth after a while. "can't keep it up, though," panted the corporal, who, to give himself greater freedom, had discarded his cloak. "but why don't the beggars fire?" it seemed remarkable that their pursuers made no attempt to use their rifles. some had already given up the chase, but others held on, streaming out into an irregular procession. ahead was a broad ditch. kenneth, who was leading, braced himself to plunge through the coating of ice, but instead his feet slipped and he rolled sideways to the farthermost bank. his companions crossed more easily, for owing to the severe frost the water was covered with two inches of ice. rollo and the corporal assisted everest to his feet. he was unhurt, but wellnigh breathless. during this episode the leading germans were within fifty yards of them; but unaccountably they slackened their pace, stopping at the edge of the frozen ditch and shouting frantically at the fugitives. "that's done it!" exclaimed the fusilier. in extended order a number of soldiers, some mounted, emerged from the shelter of a row of trees on the opposite side of the field, and stood waiting to receive the exhausted englishmen. escape was impossible. there was no cover either to the right or the left. behind them were their pursuers; in front the troops, including cavalry. "we've had a run for our money," remarked the corporal, as he raised his arms above his head in token of surrender. his companions noticed that, in spite of his dejection, the man never blamed them for suggesting a course that ended in recapture. the germans behind them still made no further attempt to advance. they stood in a row at the edge of the ditch, bawling unintelligibly. "hurrah!" suddenly shouted kenneth. his companions looked at him in amazement. "we're all right," he continued. "we've crossed the frontier. these fellows are dutch soldiers." chapter xxv thelma everest the detention of rollo barrington and kenneth everest on dutch soil was of comparatively short duration. well before the end of september they were allowed to recross the frontier within a few miles of the strong fortress of antwerp. the northumberland fusilier--his companions in peril never learnt his name--did not accompany them. at the first available opportunity he got into communication with a british consul, and, through that official's instrumentality, was sent back to england. here he reported himself at the nearest regimental depot, and, greatly to his satisfaction, was again sent across the channel to rejoin his comrades-in-arms. upon gaining dutch territory, almost the first act of kenneth and rollo was to communicate the news of their safety to their anxious parents, at the same time stating their intention of proceeding to antwerp to continue their work as dispatch-riders to the belgian forces. upon arriving at the great belgian fortress the lads found, to their huge satisfaction, that the 9th regiment of the line--or rather the remains of it--formed part of the garrison, their duty being to man the trenches between fort de wavre ste catherine and fort de waelhem--posts that, owing to their strategical position, seemed likely to bear the brunt of the threatened german attack. "dieu soit loué!" exclaimed major planchenoît. he was captain no longer, having gained well-merited promotion. "it is messieurs the english dispatch-riders. what has befallen you?" as briefly as possible kenneth related their adventures from the time of their ill-starred ride to cortenaeken. "and now we wish to report ourselves again for duty, sir," concluded everest. "ought we to see major résimont?" major planchenoît shook his head sadly. "my gallant comrade, alas! has been severely wounded. there is, however, one consolation; he is safe in england, enjoying the hospitality of your incomparable fellow-countrymen. if we had not an assured refuge in england, where would we be? but, messieurs, it will be necessary to provide you with uniforms and equipment. i will give you an order for the quartermaster. when you are fitted out, report yourselves at the divisional staff office." obtaining new uniforms was out of the question: there were none to be had. so, in place of their motor-cyclists' kit, the lads had to be content with second-hand infantryman's uniform--heavy blue coat, loose trousers tucked into black-leather gaiters, and a blue, peakless cap similar to the british "pill-box" of half a century ago, but worn squarely on the head instead of being perched at a rakish angle. to render their head-gear more conspicuous it was adorned by a band of dark-red cloth. the quartermaster was deeply apologetic. "but, after all, messieurs," he added, "a uniform is a uniform all the world over. it entitles, or should entitle, its wearer to the courtesies of war." the lads agreed on this point, although they realized that the heavy clothing was not at all suitable for dispatch-riding, where agility on the part of the cyclist and a near approach of invisibility in the matter of his uniform were essential conditions to efficiency. nor were revolvers served out to them. instead, they were given mauser rifles and short bayonets, the ammunition for the former being kept loosely in two large black-leather pouches attached to the belt. "as regards your motor-cycles," continued the quartermaster, "you may choose for yourselves. believe me, we have a large and varied assortment." as soon as kenneth and rollo had donned their cumbersome uniforms and equipment they were handed over to the care of a sergeant, who was told to escort them to the store where the reserve motor-transport vehicles were kept. this building, formerly a brewery, stood at a distance of two miles from the advanced line of trenches, and on the banks of the river nethe. in the brewery yard were nearly two hundred motor-cars and lorries arranged in various grades of efficiency; while in the cellars were rows and rows of motor-cycles and ordinary bicycles in all sorts of conditions. "voilà, messieurs!" exclaimed the sergeant with a comprehensive wave of the hand. in spite of the fact that the lads were but corporals the sergeant invariably addressed them as "messieurs". from the staff officers downwards, all with whom the british lads came in contact paid this courteous tribute to their devotion to belgium's cause. kenneth and rollo were some time making their selection. they realized that their lives might depend upon the reliability of their mounts. finally they decided upon two motor-cycles of british make, very similar to their own, although of an earlier pattern. examination showed that the tyres were in excellent condition, and that with a slight overhauling the machines ought to prove most serviceable. there was petrol in abundance, more than was likely to be required during the impending operations around antwerp. having filled up the tanks of their motor-cycles, the lads started back to the lines, the sergeant being perched upon the carrier of rollo's mount. the english lads were warmly welcomed by their new comrades of the motor section. not one of the belgian dispatch-riders who had taken part in the operations between liége and brussels was left. all of them had either been killed or wounded in the execution of their duty. of the seven motor-cyclists now serving, one was in civil life an advocate, two were diamond merchants, a fourth a professor of languages, and the others railway mechanics. yet, in spite of the great variations of social grades, the men were excellent comrades, united by a common cause. there were twenty ordinary cyclists as well, while the section also manned an armoured motor-car mounting a machine-gun. this travelling fortress had already gained a reputation as a hard nut for the germans to crack. up to the present they had not succeeded, while the machine-gun had accounted for several of the invaders. kenneth and rollo were not allowed to be idle. eager to get to work again, they were taken in hand by a captain, who by the aid of a map pointed out the position of the various forts forming the outer and inner lines of defences. the lads had also to memorize the principal roads of communication between the city and the advanced works, as well as the chief thoroughfares and public buildings of antwerp itself. until they had a fair topographical knowledge they could be of little use as dispatch-riders, but, owing to the comparatively narrow limits of the belgian forces, this information could be mastered after a brief concentrated effort. major planchenoît took good care to put the rejoined dispatch-riders to a practical test. although glad of the help of the two british subjects, he was not an officer likely to employ them on important work until they knew the locality. of their courage and sagacity he already had proof, but these qualifications were almost of a negligible quantity unless they knew the "lay of the land". next morning the lads had their instructions. "you will proceed with the dispatch to the officer commanding the outpost at lierre," ordered major planchenoît. "this done, go on to vremde. there you will find a detachment of the regiment. this packet is for the company officer. this done, proceed to the city, seek commandant fleurus, and deliver this dispatch. await further instructions from him, and report to me." kenneth and rollo saluted, and hastened to the shed where their motor-cycles were stored. as they were giving them a final overhaul, private labori--formerly a diamond merchant and now a dispatch-rider--hailed them. "are you going into the city, camarades? you are? good! bring me some cigars, and i will be eternally indebted to you. i smoked my last yesterday, and without cigars i am as a man doomed to perdition. of your charity, camarades, do me this favour." private labori pressed a ten-franc piece into kenneth's hand, and with a hurried expression of gratitude returned to his task of peeling potatoes for the midday meal. "he's taken it for granted that we get the cigars," remarked kenneth. "i suppose it would not be a breach of discipline to get them." "almost like old times," declared rollo, as the riders sped side by side over the tree-lined road. "pity we haven't our own motor-bikes, though." he spoke with the same sort of affection as the huntsman has for his favourite horse, but kenneth was more practical and unimaginative. "we're lucky to be riding at all," he said. "after all, this jigger gets along pretty well. we're doing a good twenty-five." the three dispatches were delivered in quick time. commandant fleurus greeted the lads warmly, and questioned them at great length on the subject of their adventures. "it is not possible to give you a reply at once," he said at the close of the interview. "come back at three o'clock, and the dispatch for major planchenoît will be handed you. meanwhile it will not be necessary for you to return to wavre ste catherine. you are at liberty to amuse yourselves until the hour named." "jolly considerate of him," remarked kenneth after the lads had withdrawn from the commandant's presence. "we'll put up the bikes and have a stroll round. it wouldn't be half a bad idea to call at the post office. there may be something for us, but we had better not reckon too much on it." they were not disappointed, for on making application at the post office they were each handed quite a bulky packet of correspondence. there were letters from their respective parents and relatives, and a number from old school chums. these had been written when a part of their adventures in belgium had been related by their proud parents to the head of st. cyprian's. he, in turn, had passed on the news to the rest of the school, and the result was a swarm of congratulatory letters, sent to mr. everest and colonel harrington, who, upon receiving news of their sons' safety, had promptly forwarded the batch of correspondence. "by jove!" exclaimed kenneth, "the pater's written to say that thelma is a nurse in one of the hospitals here--st. nicholas is the name. he wants me to keep an eye on her, so to speak, and pack her off to england if there's danger of the city being taken by the enemy." "let's find out where st. nicholas hospital is, and go there at once," suggested rollo. "only i hope we'll have better luck than when we tried to see your sister at madame de la barre's." "we do look like a couple of brigands," said kenneth as they hurried through the crowded streets; for their uniforms were far from being smart, while their rifles slung across their backs gave them a truly ferocious appearance. "think so?" asked rollo with considerable misgivings. "then i think i'll wait outside, if you don't mind." "nonsense, man," rejoined his companion heartily. "we're like the rest of the troops. it's an honour to wear a belgian uniform, after what these fellows have done to delay the german advance and to upset the kaiser's time-table. only i'll bet that thelma doesn't know me." kenneth was wrong in his surmise, for on calling at the hospital, thelma happened to be passing through the hall. she recognized her brother at once, but he hardly knew the tall, graceful girl in the neat and becoming nurse's uniform as his sister. "so you are my brother's chum," she remarked quite unaffectedly when kenneth had introduced the bashful rollo. "i've heard a lot about you from kenneth when you were at st. cyprian's, you know. and now you are soldiers fighting for brave little belgium." "and what are you doing here?" asked kenneth with a display of fraternal authority. "there are at least three british hospitals in antwerp, i believe. i wonder why you didn't join one of these." "i wonder why you didn't join the british army instead of enlisting in the belgian one," retorted thelma in mock reproof. "for one thing, we weren't old enough," explained her brother. "for another, we saw most of the fun before our troops landed in france. it's been a rotten time, but it's well worth it." "yes, i am glad you were able to do your bit," agreed thelma. "and now i'll tell you why i'm here. my friend yvonne résimont and i both entered as nurses, so as to be together." "yvonne résimont here?" asked kenneth. "yes--do you know her?" "no; but i might have done, had madame de la barre not been so confoundedly pigheaded. but it's not too late now," he added. thelma laughed. "i'll find her," she said. "one moment," exclaimed rollo, who had hitherto held his tongue but had made good use of his eyes. "does mademoiselle résimont know about her father?" "no; she has not heard anything of or from him for weeks. he is not dead?" "badly wounded, and now somewhere in england. i don't know where; but perhaps major planchenoît could give further particulars. and madame résimont?" "she is in holland--at bergen-op-zoom. the doctors ordered her to go, otherwise she would have remained here and helped with the wounded. i'll find yvonne." in less than a minute thelma everest returned, accompanied by her belgian chum. yvonne résimont was a girl of medium height and well-proportioned. her features were dark and clear, her hair of a deep brown. notwithstanding the grimness of her surroundings she had a natural vivacity that could not fail to charm all with whom she came in contact. "you, then, are kenneth," she exclaimed in good english, with a slight foreign accent. "i know much about you from thelma, but i did not expect to see you in the uniform of our brave belgians." kenneth coloured slightly. "i wish to goodness the uniform were a little better fitting," he thought; but it would not have mattered in the slightest degree. yvonne was a patriot to her finger-tips. every man in the uniform of her beloved country was to her a hero. the uniform, ill-fitting or otherwise, was in her eyes an emblem of right against might. "tell me, kenneth," she continued, using his christian name quite as a matter of course. it was excusable, since thelma had never spoken of her brother by any other name, and kenneth had not the faintest objection. "tell me, how came you to be fighting with us in belgian uniform?" "time, old man," announced rollo, for during the animated conversation the minutes fled with astonishing rapidity. "it's nearly three o'clock." "you'll both come to see us again whenever you have the chance, won't you?" asked thelma, as the two chums bade the girls farewell. "for the next ten days we are on night duty, so you can call at any hour between eight and eight." "and if we are asleep," added yvonne, "tell them to awaken us. i will not be cross at being disturbed, and i do not think thelma will be." "ripping girl, your sister, old man," remarked rollo enthusiastically, as the twain hurried towards the staff office. "is she?" asked kenneth absent-mindedly. he was thinking deeply of someone else. chapter xxvi self-accused "we've a few minutes to spare," observed kenneth, "so i'll get those cigars for private labori. there's a swagger shop just across the road." in spite of the threatened bombardment of antwerp the population was calm. it was a case of "business as usual". the cafés and shops were doing a good trade; the price of provisions, notwithstanding the great influx of refugees, was but a little above the normal. were it not for the military element in the street, and the occasional visit of a zeppelin or hostile aeroplane, it would have been difficult to realize that the city was almost within range of the german siege guns, and that day by day those guns were slowly yet steadily advancing. kenneth entered the tobacconist's first. as he did so he momentarily forgot that he carried his rifle across his back. in passing through the narrow doorway the muzzle of the weapon struck the plate-glass window of the porch and cracked it. alarmed by the crash the shopkeeper rushed out, but before kenneth could offer any apologies the man gave a howl of terror. "mercy, monsieur englishman!" he exclaimed. "indeed i could not help it. von koenik compelled me to disclose your name." kenneth, ever quick-witted, grasped the situation instantly. the tobacconist was none other than the spy who, under the name of jules de la paix, kept a similar establishment at brussels. there his dirty work had been completed; at antwerp it was just beginning. the fellow had also recognized kenneth as the englishman he had basely denounced to his paymasters, the germans. seeing him in uniform and armed, with a fully-accoutred companion, the spy jumped at the hasty and erroneous conclusion that kenneth had discovered his duplicity and had come to arrest him. his panic at seeing the man whom he supposed to be dead amounted to a superstitious terror. hardly knowing what he said, he let fall the damning admission that he was at least partly responsible for kenneth's arrest at brussels. "you are my prisoner!" exclaimed kenneth sternly. momentarily recovering his courage, the fellow drew back. his hand flew to his pocket, but before he could produce a concealed weapon the british lad grasped him by both arms. meanwhile rollo, guessing by the crash of the broken glass that something was amiss, had sauntered leisurely into the shop, fully expecting to hear his chum apologizing profusely to the tobacconist for his clumsiness. to his surprise, he found kenneth and the shopkeeper swaying to and fro in a desperate struggle. chairs had been overturned, cases of pipes and packets of tobacco were being thrown in all directions. in spite of being encumbered with his rifle and kit, kenneth succeeded in throwing the spy to the floor and kneeling on his chest. [illustration: kenneth succeeded in throwing the spy to the floor] "get a strap, a rope, or something, old man," he exclaimed breathlessly. "we've collared a spy." rollo obeyed. it was one of those rare instances when he acted on the spur of his chum's orders and argued the situation afterwards. he could not understand how kenneth had effected the capture without any previous warning. to him, a lad brought up in a country where law and order moves with slow and majestic deliberation, it looked like a case of illegal arrest. nevertheless he found a length of packing-cord, and deftly secured the arms of the now exhausted spy, tying them at the wrists behind his back. the two female assistants--belgian girls--had fled screaming at the commencement of the struggle. two or three customers at the other end of the long shop had watched the scene without attempting to interfere; but directly the shopkeeper was secured they rushed into the street, yelling that a spy had been captured. the utterance of the word "espion" was sufficient instantly to attract a huge crowd. civil guards and soldiers found their way through the press, and kept the curious onlookers from the door. "who denounces the accused?" demanded a sergeant of the civil guard. "i do," promptly responded kenneth, at the same time producing his identity papers. the sergeant glanced at the documents, and entered kenneth's name in a book. "you must come with me," he added; "you and your witnesses." "sorry i cannot," said kenneth. the sergeant pricked up his ears. "i order you," he declared. "tell me where you are taking the prisoner, and we will be there as soon as possible. at three o'clock i have an appointment with commandant fleurus, and it is nearly that hour now." the sergeant acquiesced, but took the precaution of discreetly sending a couple of men to watch the movements of the two corporals in belgian uniform who were stated to be english. experience had taught him that there were such things as forged documents, and that germans had masqueraded as english officers and men. "you are slightly after time," was commandant fleurus's remark as the dispatch-riders presented themselves. "we arrested a spy, sir," announced kenneth. "he gave himself away." "how was that?" asked the commandant. kenneth reported the details, and how jules de la paix had rashly declared that he was compelled to denounce the english lads to von koenik at brussels. "good!" ejaculated commandant fleurus. "it is indeed a fine service to trap such carrion. we have suffered greatly from these pests, but i fear one the less will make but little difference. antwerp shelters a horde of them. but here is your dispatch. see, i have endorsed it: 'bearers detained upon special service'." by the time that kenneth and rollo arrived at the head-quarters of the civil guard a court martial had already been constituted. the presence of the principal witnesses made it possible for the trial to open. the proceedings were brief, but with every semblance of fairness. the accused, having had time to consider his position, tried to deny his statements; but there were several witnesses who had overheard the prisoner's terrified confession to kenneth. members of the civil guard reported that they had searched the accused's premises. in a garret with a well-concealed trap-door they discovered a powerful wireless installation, the aerials being hidden from outside view by being placed between two rows of chimney-pots. in the garret were also found plans and documents of great official value, besides a copy of a code, several flash-lights, and arms and ammunition. on the face of this evidence the prisoner was doomed. in addition the civil guards discovered that at the end of the garden was a shed abutting on a canal that communicated with the scheldt. in this shed was a large sea-going motor-boat, painted a dark-grey, and completely equipped for a voyage. it was presumed that, should the spy find himself compelled to leave antwerp hurriedly, this craft would enable him to reach dutch territory, whence he could easily regain the ground held by the invaders. within an hour from the opening of the court the spy was condemned to be shot, and the sentence was put into execution forthwith. "a rotten business," remarked kenneth as the two lads rode towards wavre ste catherine. "i feel as if i have that fellow's blood on my head." "he jolly well deserved what he got," rejoined rollo. "undoubtedly; but, all the same, i wish i hadn't a hand in it. trapping spies is hardly a soldier's game. what i should like to have done would be to have given him a thundering good hiding." chapter xxvii with the naval brigade at antwerp fort de wavre ste catherine had fallen. unable to fire an effective shot in reply to the terrible bombardment of the formidable german 28-cm. shells, the strongest of the outer line of antwerp defences suffered the same fate as the steel-clad cupolas of liége. antwerp was doomed. the belgians themselves realized the fact. their one hope was that the german infantry would attempt to rush the trenches. then it would be proved again that the belgian infantryman was as good as or better than his teutonic foe. nevertheless, driven from the outer forts on the southern side of the defences, the garrison was not dismayed. in spite of the fact that by their resistance antwerp itself would presumably suffer at the hands of the germanic hordes, the belgians knew that their sacrifice would not be in vain. to take the city a huge force of germans would be required--and that force was badly needed elsewhere. day by day, hour by hour, the british and french allied forces were extending their left wing from the aisne to the belgian frontier, circumventing all the efforts on the part of their foes to turn their flank. the "holding up" of the german besiegers of antwerp was sufficient to enable the allies firmly to establish their threatened left flank upon the coast of the north sea. one by one the outer forts fell. a shell demolished the waterworks and threatened the city's water supply. back fell the belgians, reluctantly relaxing their hold upon the trenches, in which they were subjected to a heavy fire without even so much as a glimpse of a hostile grey-coat. during these momentous days kenneth and rollo were busily employed conveying important messages under fire. it was a matter of impossibility for them not to realize the hopelessness of the position, but they did not relax their efforts on that account. the belgians were not fighting with their backs to a wall. behind them lay the neutral territory of holland. at any given time they could evacuate the city and allow themselves to be interned; but this they would not do until they received news that their allies were firmly established in their proposed position. on the second day of october preparations were made for the government to abandon antwerp, when suddenly the exodus came to a standstill. the word flew from mouth to mouth that a strong british force was to be thrown into antwerp, and, with the aid of the belgian army, to raise the siege and turn the enemy's flank. "that's good news," remarked kenneth; but rollo was far from optimistic. "we've heard such a lot of this sort of talk before, old man," he said. "until i see a british regiment in antwerp i'll have my doubts." early on the morning of the 4th, the lads were roused from their slumbers by a roar of cheering. emerging from their shell-proof shelter, they were surprised and delighted to find that rumour had merged into fact. surging along towards the trenches in the direction of lierre were hundreds of men dressed in the well-known british naval uniform. as yet they were not under shellfire, for the german guns were devoting their energies towards the works at lierre, and the hostile air-craft had not noted the approach of british reinforcements. presently the bluejackets halted and piled arms. it was their last breathing-space before they dashed into the shell-swept trenches. "let's go and see them," suggested rollo; and his companion agreeing, the two chums hurried towards the resting bluejackets, who were surrounded by hundreds of their belgian allies, for the present off duty from the firing-line. "i wonder how we manage to spare this crowd of sailors," remarked kenneth as they made their way towards their fellow-countrymen. "i should have thought that every man would be wanted for service with the fleet." "at any rate, they're here," said rollo; "and there are fellows in khaki coming along the lierre road, if i'm not much mistaken." the lads stood watching the sailors for some time. their insular reserve kept them from immediately entering into conversation, although they were filled with impatience to know what had happened. for the most part the bluejackets were young men of good physique. they lacked the bronzed appearance of seamen who have braved the breezes of the five oceans. many of them were pale, not with apprehension, but with a consciousness that they had before them a stern task that would tax their energies and courage, for they were going under fire for the first time. presently one of the bluejackets strolled up to the spot where kenneth and his chum were standing. "est-ce--est-ce que vous--oh, hang it! what's the french for----" he began. "try english, old man; it will be a jolly sight easier for you," said kenneth, laughing. "why, you're british, and in belgian get-up!" exclaimed the bluejacket in surprise. "what are you doing here, i should like to know?" "exactly the same question we want to ask you," replied kenneth. "we're dispatch-riders in the belgian service. we heard that british troops were to be sent here, but we didn't expect sailors." "nor are we," replied the other. "candidly we're not, although we are the collingwood battalion of the naval brigade." "never heard of it before," remarked rollo. "you haven't? have you heard of kitchener's army, then?" the lads shook their heads. "then you are behind the times. whatever have you been doing with yourselves? i'll tell you. as soon as war broke out kitchener asked for half a million men. he got them right enough. in addition they started naval brigades. it was a good wheeze, for a lot of fellows joined for the sake of wearing a naval uniform instead of khaki, although there was no intention of using us at sea--at least, not at present. two months ago i was an actor. to quote the words of the immortal _pinafore_: 'i never was upon the sea'." "'what, never?'" queried rollo, continuing the words of the song. "'well--hardly ever'. fact is that until i left walmer to cross the channel my longest trip was from portsmouth to ryde. i was beastly sea-sick crossing, but i'm jolly glad i'm here. we stand a chance of doing a bit before kitchener's army gets a sniff of a look-in. we'll do our little bit, never fear. well, so long; hope to see you again." the division was falling in, preparatory to advancing in open order towards the trenches facing the river nethe, close to the village of lierre. steadfastly, and with the quiet courage that distinguishes britons under fire, the lads of the naval brigade marched into the zone of danger to attempt to stem the advance of the german hordes upon the city of antwerp. "ah, messieurs!" exclaimed major planchenoît, as the dispatch-riders reported themselves for orders. he was in high spirits, for, like the rest of the belgian troops, he was greatly cheered by the fact that the long-promised aid was at last forthcoming. "ah, messieurs! to-day you will report yourselves at lierre. you will be of service as interpreters, for your gallant fellow-countrymen do not seem particularly well acquainted with our language." it was hot work making their way to the trenches, for already the germans had renewed their destructive fire. briton and belgian, lying side by side in the hastily-constructed shelters, were subjected to a galling shrapnel fire without being able to make an adequate reply. from the rear, two british heavy naval guns were resolutely hurtling shells towards the invisible german battery; but of what use were two against so many? manfully the untried men of the naval brigade took their gruelling. it was one of the hardest tasks that men, going for the first time into action, had to endure: to be subjected to a tremendous bombardment without being able to fire a shot in return. nevertheless they stuck it grimly, waiting and praying that they might have a chance of meeting the german infantry on anything like level terms. that chance came at last. at night the german artillery-fire slackened. pouring onwards in dense masses came the grey-uniformed legions, intent upon forcing the passage of the river nethe in the neighbourhood of lierre. already the british marines had blown up the bridge, while across the main street of the shell-wrecked village a strong barricade of carts faced with sandbags had been constructed. working desperately, the german engineers succeeded in throwing pontoons across the stagnant river. with shouts of "deutschland über alles" the infantry poured across, greeted by a withering fire from briton and belgian. the naval brigade's rifle-firing was as steady as that of a veteran battalion. maxims added to the general clatter. all along the trenches flashed the deadly spurts of fire from the small-arms. the german infantry, swept away like chaff, failed to make good the position: the briton proved a better man than the vaunted teuton. then came the recurrence of the deadly shrapnel. the belgian infantry on the right were compelled to retire, and into the position they vacated poured other german regiments, covered by a fierce artillery fire that was impartial as to whether it struck friend or foe. it was now that the naval brigade failed to come up to the standard of thoroughly trained and seasoned troops. having repelled the attack upon their immediate front, they could not easily be induced to retire. the desire to "stop and have another shot at the beggars" was uppermost in the minds of these stalwart youths. they failed to realize that with the allied line pressed they were in danger of being enfiladed. but reluctantly and doggedly they eventually fell back within the shelter of the inner line of forts. for the next two days the german heavy guns pounded the weak line of defence. inexplicably, although the city was well within range, no projectiles fell in antwerp. perhaps it was because the invaders hoped to take a practically undamaged port. meanwhile the belgian army, with the british naval brigade, was being withdrawn from antwerp. further resistance was hopeless, while by this time the anglo-french armies were in their allotted positions according to general joffre's plan. all that remained to be done in antwerp was to destroy everything likely to be of military value to the enemy, and extricate the defenders from what promised to be a veritable trap. in vain, during the night of the retirement, kenneth and rollo sought to regain their regiment. whither the 9th of the line had gone no one seemed to know. some had it that the devoted regiment had perished almost to a man in the trenches; others that it was on its way to ostend; others that it had crossed the frontier into holland. "now what's to be done?" asked rollo. "find the girls, if they haven't already left, and get them to a place of safety," replied kenneth grimly. "we can do no more at present for belgium; we must look after ourselves and our friends. lead on: to the st. nicholas hospital." chapter xxviii when the city fell shells were beginning to fall upon the roofs of the houses when the lads entered the devoted city. the bulk of the population had already fled. a seemingly never-ending procession of tired, hungry, and despondent refugees poured along the dusty road leading to bergen-op-zoom. others, debarred from taking train owing to germans having occupied st. nicholas station, were making their way by circuitous routes towards ostend. more were embarking upon craft of all sorts and sizes, whose masters were only too willing to give their suffering countrymen a passage either to the nearest dutch port or across the north sea to the shores of hospitable england. night had now fallen. it was by no means cold, the frosty nights of mid-september having given place to an autumnal heat-wave. there was little or no wind. the dense smoke from the burning petrol-tanks, which the belgians had fired rather than let the precious spirit fall into the hands of the enemy, rose straight in the air. elsewhere other smaller columns of smoke marked the localities where the german incendiary shells had fired portions of the city. in one of the principal squares, swarms of ragamuffins, acting under the orders of the military, were taking a hideous delight in their work of destruction; for they were busily engaged in smashing costly motor-cars and lorries to useless fragments. nothing that could be of use to the enemy was permitted to be left intact. from the direction of the river came the sounds of muffled explosions as the belgians methodically proceeded to cripple the engines of a fleet of merchant shipping, and to sink lighters filled with stone and concrete to block up the entrances to the various docks. the germans were about to take antwerp--but they were to find in it another moscow, as napoleon found it. keeping to the almost deserted side streets, kenneth and rollo hurried towards the hospital of st. nicholas. their motor-cycles had gone, being destroyed in the retirement of the 9th regiment of the line from the fire-swept trenches. "what's the programme?" asked rollo. "what do you propose to do if we find the girls?" "clear out," replied kenneth promptly. "the train service is done; i'm not anxious to enter holland and cool my heels till the end of this business. we can't expect the girls to tramp twenty miles, with the possibility of being cut off by the enemy; and carts are apparently out of the question. there remains the sea." "yes, we may be able to get a passage on a fishing-boat." "that's not my plan. do you remember the motor-launch in the shed at the end of jules de la paix's garden?" "can't see how that can help us," objected rollo. "we haven't a crew." "if we can get the motor to start, the worst of the difficulty is over," declared kenneth. "at the trial, you'll recollect, the sergeant of the civil guard reported that the craft was provisioned and ready for sea. he was ordered to refrain from damaging the vessel." "she may have disappeared." "we'll soon see." kenneth led the way along a dark, deserted alley, till he came to a wall on the top of which was a formidable array of broken glass. this wall marked the side boundary to the spy's premises. "a tough nut to crack," remarked rollo, as he noticed for the first time the jagged glass gleaming in the red glare of the burning houses. "we'll come across a door, unless i'm much mistaken--- hullo! that's a nasty one," said kenneth. a shower of shrapnel, rattling on the roofs and shattering the windows of some houses in the street they had just left, occasioned this exclamation; for the germans were mostly using shells of this variety, to terrify the inhabitants rather than to cause great material damage. "quite near enough," rejoined rollo coolly. "here's the door." the lads tried it. it was locked and bolted. the stout oaken framework resisted their efforts to burst it open with their shoulders. kenneth unslung his rifle. one shot amidst that chaos of terrific detonations would be practically inaudible, and even if it were heard there were none sufficiently curious to ascertain the reason. the heavy lock was not proof against the high-velocity bullet. a second shot demolished the bolt. the gate creaked on its hinges. passing along the garden path amidst autumn flowers mown down by the explosion of shells, several of which had fallen close to the house, the lads arrived at the boat-house. the windows were shattered; there was a gaping hole in the roof. kenneth began to entertain grave doubts as to whether the motor-boat had escaped damage. "she's there, right enough," he announced, as he peered through one of the broken windows and saw the grey-painted outlines of the craft within. "the door's locked. i'll try another shot." "steady on, man!" cautioned his companion. "mind you don't bore a hole through the boat as well. see, here is a crowbar, or something like it. we'll prise the door open." they seized the bar and forced the pointed end between the door and the jamb. "now!" exclaimed kenneth. at that very moment, before the lads could exert any pressure upon the crowbar, a blinding flash came from overhead, immediately followed by a terrific detonation. splinters, broken glass, tiles, clods of earth and leaves flew in all directions, while a pungent cloud of smoke enveloped everything. for nearly ten seconds the two chums held on to the crowbar, then kenneth spoke. "i'm hit, confound it!" he exclaimed. "it's not much, though." he relaxed his grasp of the iron bar as he spoke, and reeled slightly. rollo held out his hand to steady him, and perceived for the first time that it was wet with blood and practically devoid of the sense of feeling. "what! you hit too?" asked kenneth, pulling himself together on seeing the dark stain on his companion's wrist. "yes; a shrapnel ball clean through my right wrist," announced rollo, "it doesn't hurt much." "and i've a bullet through the palm of my left hand," added kenneth, displaying a small punctured wound about two inches from the base of the little finger. "it might have been worse. we'll tie our handkerchiefs over the wounds; that will do all right for the time. now for the door. the sooner we open it the better. buck up, man; the girls must be terribly anxious." thus exhorted, although feeling giddy from the effects of the shock, rollo grasped the crowbar with his unwounded hand. kenneth bore against the lever with all his might, and with a crash the door flew open. the motor-boat was on a cradle, just clear of the water. it was now half-tide and on the ebb. a hasty examination failed to reveal signs of structural damage to the little craft, although the scuttle-glasses of the cabin were all either cracked or completely demolished. the craft was fully equipped, but the provisions had vanished. doubtless they had been removed by the civil guards at or after the arrest of the spy. "let's launch her, then we can see if she leaks," exclaimed kenneth. he was feverishly working against time. his energy seemed inexhaustible. "there's the windlass; let her go gently." down glided the boat into the sullen waters of the canal. kenneth leapt on board and secured her along-side, then lifted the floor-boards over the well. "she's making a few drops," he announced. "i think it's only because she has been hauled up in the dry for some time. by the time we get the girls down she'll take up." rollo offered no remark. in his mind there were doubts as to whether thelma everest and yvonne résimont were still in the hospital; if they were, would they abandon their duties? but he followed his chum, nursing his wounded hand, wincing at every step he took as the pain shot through the nerves of his arm. kenneth strode on, indifferent to his injuries. hardly a word passed between them as they hurried along the alley and into the smoke-filled streets. there were still a few persons about, mostly men of the criminal class, who seized the opportunity for indiscriminate looting. here and there were the corpses of fugitives, stricken down in their final mad rush for the safety that was denied them. the air was filled with the crash of exploding shells and the clatter of broken glass, to the accompaniment of the distant booming of the hostile guns. closely followed by his companion, kenneth dashed up the steps of the hospital. the door was wide open. a portion of the facade of the portico had been shattered by a shell. hardly a window remained intact in the building. a nurse, her face serenely peaceful in spite of the scene of destruction around her, came forward. "you men are wounded? come this way; we will speedily attend to your hurts." kenneth shook his head. "our wounds are slight," he protested. "i have come for my sister, thelma everest, and her friend, mademoiselle résimont--if they can be spared," he added, for the sight of this woman calmly on duty caused him to take a different view of the reason lot his sister's presence in the hospital. "they can be spared," replied the nurse. "already we have sent the least serious cases away, and have dismissed the younger nurses. mademoiselle everest and her friend refused to take advantage of the permission. they were expecting you, and you have not failed them, i see. i will inform them." quickly thelma and yvonne appeared, heavily cloaked, and carrying handbags, in readiness for their flight. "we would not have gone, kenneth," said his sister, "only there is no more work for us to do. but is it not already too late to leave the city? we were told that the bridge of boats had been destroyed, and that all communication with outside is interrupted. four of our nurses left by the last train that got away from here." "we'll manage that all right," declared kenneth stoutly, although in his mind he dreaded taking the girls on the journey along the shell-endangered streets. "we are ready," said thelma simply; then, having taken a hasty yet tender farewell of the head nursing sister, the girls accompanied the two lads into the now deserted thoroughfare. unhurt, although several highly-charged projectiles burst above the roofs on either side of the road, the four refugees gained the boat-house of the late spy. no more shells had fallen there in the interval. the boat had made but half an inch of water, and this could easily be got under by means of the pump. the fuel tanks were filled with petrol; there were a dozen intact tins in the after locker. for provisions each lad had a couple of long rolls of bread in his haversack. thelma had brought biscuits and butter; yvonne had provided a tin of ground coffee and condensed milk--a meagre fare on which to essay a voyage across the north sea, but enough to hazard the journey without fear of actual starvation. kenneth was by no means a novice in seamanship, on more than one vacation he had spent part of the time in motor-boating in southampton water, where a cousin of his kept a high-powered craft. after very little delay he succeeded in finding the position of the various switches and taps. at the third attempt the engine fired. the propeller blades, set at the neutral, churned the water. the motor purred rhythmically, as a well-conducted motor should. "cast off there, for'ard!" ordered kenneth, addressing rollo, who had taken up his post in the bows. "thelma, undo that rope, quickly now!" it was no time for courtesies. kenneth was skipper, and his crew had to be told peremptorily; it was his notion of showing authority. swiftly gathering stern-way the boat glided away from the staging; then, with a jerk as the propeller began to churn ahead, the little craft headed towards the scheldt and the north sea. kenneth's was by no means an easy task. having the use of only one arm, he was severely handicapped. steering by means of a wheel is far from satisfactory when literally "single-handed", while the intricacies of the canal required a certain amount of quickness with the helm. twice the boat nearly collided with the partly submerged hulls of destroyed barges. the canal was now little better than a ditch, for the tide had already fallen twelve feet out of sixteen. one satisfaction kenneth had: there were no lock-gates to negotiate. the falling tide told him that. "something ahead!" shouted rollo. "wreckage, i think." his chum immediately throttled down, keeping his unwounded hand on the reversing lever. by the lurid glare in the sky he could discern the obstruction: the shattered timbers of the lock-gates. would there be enough water to clear the sill of the basin? if not, they would have to remain for hours, in danger of the falling shells, until the tide rose sufficiently to float the boat over the barrier. kenneth prudently stopped the engine. he would not risk losing the blades of the propeller. slowly and with bare steerage-way the boat glided towards the ruined gates. her bows passed the gaunt timbers, then, with a horrid grinding noise, she hung up by the stern. "get for'ard, all hands!" shouted kenneth. "we may be able to jump her over." the four members of the crew made their way to the bows. regardless of their injuries the two lads heaved and pushed with the boat-hooks. they could hear the keel grate on the stone-work. the tide was still falling. a shell, fortunately without exploding, dropped into the water twenty yards astern, throwing a shower of spray over the boat and her crew. kenneth glanced at the girls. by the glare of the burning city he could see that their faces were calm. either they were ignorant of their narrow escape or quite unperturbed by their hazardous position. "all together; push for all you are worth!" exclaimed kenneth desperately. inch by inch the boat was urged onwards, till with a sudden jerk it dropped across the sill into deep water. rollo, faint with pain, sat limply in the for'ard well; then, concealing his injuries, he assisted the girls to the doubtful shelter of the cabin. kenneth, too, was in a sorry plight. setting his teeth tightly he restarted the engine; then, taking up his post at the wheel, he guided the swift little craft towards the centre of the river scheldt. in spite of the still pressing danger the crew were enthralled by the scene that presented itself to their gaze. antwerp was in the throes of its death-struggle. dominating the houses on the river bank rose the spire of the cathedral, its delicate tracery silhouetted clearly against the dull red glare of the burning oil-tanks. overhead the thick pall of smoke had spread far and wide, its lower edges tinted blood-red by the blaze of the numerous fires. high above the roofs were the rapid, seemingly interminable brilliant flashes of the exploding shells, while away to the southward the sky was stabbed by the incessant lightning-like glare of the bombarding guns. antwerp had fallen. belgium as a country had practically ceased to exist; belgium as a nation, still undaunted, had made a supreme sacrifice. she had saved europe--and europe's task was clear. not until the brave little nation was rehabilitated, and the german menace crushed once and for all time, could the allies hope to lay down the sword that they had been reluctantly compelled to unsheathe. chapter xxix on the north sea the crew of the motor-boat had no great difficulty in finding their way down the river. the glare on the water, and on the underside of the enormous expanse of smoke overhead, enabled them to see objects ahead with comparative ease. the actual channel was well defined, at first by several barges still at anchor in the stream, and later by hundreds of small craft making their way to safety. those who depended mainly upon sail to propel them were quickly overtaken, for the night was particularly windless and their brown canvas hung idly from the yards. satisfied with having got beyond the danger zone, the crews of these fishing-vessels were content to drift, save for the occasional assistance of their heavy sweeps. the decks were literally packed with refugees, who, glad to have escaped with their lives, exhibited an uncanny calmness. reach after reach of the river was passed, as the motor-boat, gradually working up power, increased her speed. astern, the funereal pile of antwerp glowed red; it seemed as if the crew could never get beyond sight of it. the spire of the cathedral had vanished beneath the horizon, but the smoke from the burning city still hung overhead. the four occupants of the motor-boat had made their way aft. the girls, refusing to go into the cabin, sat on one side of the cockpit, their eyes fixed upon the glare of the fallen port. rollo, holding his wounded wrist, shut his jaw tightly and endured the pain. since his chum made no complaint of his injuries, rollo grimly decided to keep the fact that he was wounded from the others. kenneth, steadying the steering-wheel with his right hand, had almost forgotten the unpleasant attention of the shrapnel bullet. the sense of responsibility outweighed all other considerations. "we're across the frontier now," he announced, as the little craft curtsied to the slight undulations of the comparatively wide expanse of the west scheldt. "now, girls, which shall it be? shall i land you on dutch territory, or will you risk crossing the north sea?" thelma's was a prompt answer. "we'll stay with you, boys." "will it be very rough?" asked yvonne. she had faced the dangers of the bombardment bravely, but the perils of a voyage upon the open sea in a small, partly-decked craft gave her misgivings that the presence of her companions failed to keep in check. "smooth as a mill-pond," declared kenneth optimistically. "there's no wind. we'll have plenty of company on the way, i fancy; and what is more, the british navy has complete control of this part of the north sea. we are doing fifteen knots, i think; that's a little over seventeen miles an hour. we ought to be in sight of the kentish coast a couple of hours after sunrise." "then i am satisfied," declared yvonne. "that's good! now, girls, how about a cup of coffee? i can't make it, so perhaps you'll do a good turn. rollo will light the cabin light and show you where the fresh water is stored." as soon as his three companions had withdrawn to the cabin kenneth closed the door. the gleam from within dazzled his eyes, and, with so much traffic about, that would never do. the motor-boat was running without navigation lights. if there were any "steaming" lamps on board he had failed to notice them. but the rule of the road seemed to be sadly neglected that fateful night. there were vessels of all sizes and rigs making for safety, and not one-tenth of their number showed the regulation red and green lights. left to himself, kenneth began to realize once more that his hand was throbbing. the flow of blood had entirely ceased, and a dry, burning pain succeeded the comparative ease of the wound while it bled freely. he was desperately hungry and thirsty. for forty-eight hours he had been on short commons. the reaction of the days and nights of strenuous activity was beginning to tell. the motor-boat, gliding swiftly through the water, had now outstripped all the fishing luggers. ahead were three or four steamers making to the westward. others, shaping a course for ostend, had swung away to the port hand. "rollo!" sang out his chum sharply. "come and take the helm for a minute." "i was just coming," answered rollo as he emerged from the cabin. "there's coffee waiting for you. and the girls have made a rattling good job of my wrist," he added, pointing to a neatly-bandaged arm in a sling. "follow that vessel," ordered kenneth, pointing to a steamer a couple of miles ahead, her stern-light showing brightly in the clear starlit night. "if you overhaul her, or if there's anything likely to be dangerous, give me the word." "one minute," protested rollo. "the spray's dashing in through the broken scuttles. i'll try and fix up the strip of canvas. it's long enough to go right round." kenneth waited until his chum had completed the necessary and self-imposed task. being able to use only one hand, it was a difficult, not to say dangerous, business securing the canvas round the raised cabin-top, for the boat was now jumping considerably. "that's done it!" ejaculated rollo. "now, old man, down you go. i'll keep her going somehow." "you have been a time, kenneth," exclaimed his sister reproachfully. "your coffee is getting cold. why, what's the matter?" she broke off her reproaches in alarm, for kenneth's face was grey and drawn in the light of the cabin-lamp. "only my hand," announced her brother, with a feeble, ill-disguised attempt at unconcern as he withdrew the badly-bandaged member from the flap of his coat. "what! are we still under fire?" "no; this occurred five or six hours ago. it's a clean wound." gently the two girls attended to the injury. the handkerchief had to be soaked before it could be withdrawn from the wound. in five minutes the now experienced young nurses had washed the place with antiseptic and had bound it with lint. "right as anything now," declared kenneth. "i'll have my coffee and get on deck again." "you had far better rest," replied his sister; "and rollo, too, is steering; in spite of his wounded wrist. i'll go and take the wheel; it won't be the first time." kenneth gave in without a protest. he was "about done". obediently he stretched himself upon one of the cushions of the bunk and closed his eyes. bidding yvonne keep a watch on the patient, thelma donned her cloak and went out into the cockpit. rollo, too, offered no objections to being relieved of his duty. the vibration of the wheel, almost unnoticeable under ordinary circumstances, was causing his wrist intense pain. he handed thelma the charge of the helm, told her what course to take, and sat down, admiring, in spite of his physical anguish, the alert, self-possessed girl as she toyed with the spokes of the wheel with the ease of a practised helmsman. "we're up to that vessel, rollo," she reported, after an hour had passed. owing to her superior speed the motor-boat had rapidly gained upon the lumbering ten-knot tramp which was now a couple of cables distant on the port hand. her companion bestirred himself and went into the cabin. "i wouldn't wake kenneth," he said as he reappeared. "yvonne tells me he's quite done up." "i wonder you're not, too." "i'll make up for it when we get ashore, never fear," declared rollo. "but the point is, we've got to steer a course. here's the compass, but it's almost like greek to me. i suppose if we keep due west we'll do something? there are such things as variation and deviation, but, although i did have a chance, i never troubled to understand them. i wish i had, now." providentially, for it was now close on high water, the little craft crossed the dangerous sand-banks that encumber the scheldt entrance without any of her crew realizing the risk they were running. once they encountered "overfalls" of rather broken water on the tail of a bank; but, with nothing worse than a couple of waves breaking inboard, the motor-boat gained the comparatively smooth water beyond. grey dawn was now breaking. all around was an unbroken expanse of sea and sky. not a vessel or a buoy of any description was in sight. for the first time rollo was able to form some idea of the vastness of the north sea. bestirring himself, he examined the petrol-gauge and the quantity of oil in the automatic lubricator reservoirs. the consumption of both had not been excessive, and the motor was running like clockwork. "it's getting very misty," said thelma. "by jove, it is!" assented her companion. "i hope it won't come on any thicker. are you cold? let me take the wheel again." the girl shook her head. "i'm quite all right," she declared. "i am enjoying it. how much farther is it, do you think?" it was rollo's turn to shake his head. he did not know, and he was too candid to pretend that he did. "we ought to be meeting shipping in and out of the thames estuary shortly," he said. "i suppose our merchant vessels sail as freely as they did before the war? hello! there's something coming up astern." he pointed to a faint blurr of smoke about three miles away and dead in the wake of the motor-boat. "something fairly fast to be able to overtake us," remarked thelma. "is there a telescope on board?" "i'll see," answered rollo. again he entered the cabin. kenneth was still sound asleep. yvonne was seated on the opposite bunk, watching him as zealously as a vigilant sentry. "what are you looking for, rollo?" she whispered. "a telescope." she arose and, steadying herself by means of the cabin table, made her way to the for'ard bulkhead. drawing back a curtain, she took down the required article from a rack. "it is a nurse's duty to become quickly acquainted with her surroundings," she said with a smile, as she handed rollo the telescope. the lad returned to the cockpit. standing with his back against the after bulkhead of the cabin he raised the telescope. it was some time, owing to the motion of the boat, before he could get the instrument to bear. "i must rouse kenneth," he said calmly. "why?" asked thelma. "tell me: is there anything wrong? i will not be frightened." "there is, i fear," he answered. "unless i am very much mistaken, yonder craft is a german torpedo-boat, and she is standing in pursuit of us." chapter xxx the victorious white ensign "kenneth, old man, wake up!" everest opened his eyes listlessly. aroused in the midst of the sleep of utter exhaustion, he did not at once realize his surroundings. "what's up?" he asked drowsily, with a suspicion of resentment in his voice. "come out into the cockpit," said rollo. "i want you to see if we are on the right course. we passed the tramp steamer some time ago." "then why didn't you call me?" demanded kenneth, displaying considerable alacrity, and making a dash for the cabin door. "stay here a little longer, yvonne," said rollo to the belgian girl as she began to follow her patient. the lad's chief anxiety was to keep her in ignorance of the new danger that threatened them. "right as rain," announced kenneth, glancing at the compass. "look astern, old man," said his chum in a low voice. "i didn't want to alarm yvonne. thelma knows, though. that torpedo-boat coming up hand over fist is a german." "never!" ejaculated kenneth. the idea of a war vessel flying the kaiser's black-cross ensign on the high seas seemed incredible. "fact," rejoined rollo. "take this telescope." "you're right, by jove!" exclaimed kenneth after a brief survey. "we must carry on as long as we can. if they fire at us we must stop, for the sake of the girls." the motor was running at its utmost possible number of revolutions, yet the boat was no match for the grey-painted craft now a mile and a half astern. the german torpedo-boat made no sign of firing; she merely hung on doggedly in the wake of the motor-craft, slowly yet surely diminishing the distance between them. the haze had now lifted considerably, so that the range of vision extended for quite five miles. all around, save for the pursuing craft, the horizon was unbroken. "perhaps those chaps think that their rotten spy, jules de la paix, is on board," suggested rollo. "they may have a prearranged plan to pick him up at sea." "should hardly think so," replied kenneth. "it would have been easier for him to have run across to dutch territory, if he hadn't the heart to remain at antwerp during the bombardment. if that's whom they're after they'll be jolly disappointed." "they'll spot our uniforms, if they haven't already done so," said rollo. "i wish the beggars would be stopped by a submarine." kenneth did not reply. seized by an inspiration, he grasped one of the two boat-hooks on deck, released it from its lashings, and tossed it overboard. "what have you done that for?" asked his chum. kenneth pointed to the staff of the boat-hook. weighted down by the gun-metal head, it was bobbing up and down in a vertical position some yards astern. "that may give them a bit of a shock," he explained. "they may think it's a periscope of a submarine." "it's much too small." "not when there are no means of comparing it with anything else. look at it now. you couldn't say with certainty within a hundred yards how far it is away. anyhow, we'll chance it." the german torpedo-boat had hoisted four signal-flags to her cross-yards. they were blowing out in a fore-and-aft direction. "can't make them out," declared kenneth, "and wouldn't understand them if i did. now, watch." suddenly two spurts of flame burst from the deck of the pursuing boat. shells from her three-pounder quick-firers pitched a short distance on her starboard side. simultaneously the torpedo-boat swung round. travelling at twenty-seven knots, the sudden porting of her helm caused her to heel outwards till her deck was almost awash. "by jove, she's rammed our boat-hook!" shouted kenneth enthusiastically. "if ever she gets back to port, won't she pitch a yarn about ramming and sinking a british submarine!" the lad was not wrong in his surmise, for the torpedo-boat slowed down and made a complete circle, steaming over the spot where she imagined the periscope to have been. luckily the ruse was not discovered, for a chance shot had shattered the boat-hook staff and had sent the weighted end to the bottom; while, on the other hand, the motor-boat had gained at least two miles on her pursuer. "it's worth while throwing our remaining boat-hook overboard," said rollo. "i don't suppose we'll want it in any case." the german torpedo-boat had now resumed the pursuit. obviously fearing the presence of other submarines she kept a zigzag course, altering her helm every five minutes in order to confuse the aim of a possible torpedo-gunner. consequently, although she still overhauled her quarry, the distance between them lessened with perceptible slowness. ten minutes from the time of resuming her course the torpedo-boat fired her bow gun. the plugged shell, purposely aimed wide, threw up a column of spray a hundred yards from the motor-boat's port quarter. the lads exchanged glances. kenneth leant forward and switched off the ignition. "hard lines!" he ejaculated. "if it weren't for the girls----" while the boat still carried way he put the helm hard over, until her bows pointed in the direction of her captor. dejectedly the crew awaited the arrival of the torpedo-boat, wondering what course the germans would pursue. "look!" exclaimed thelma, excitedly pointing to the hostile craft. the sight that met their gaze was an inspiring one. from somewhere at a great distance away a shell had hurtled through the air. striking the water within twenty yards of its objective, the missile had ricochetted, and had shattered the torpedo-boat's foremost funnel. another and another followed in quick succession, both bursting over the deck of the doomed vessel. the germans replied, firing with great vigour, but the crew of the motor-boat could form no idea of what they were firing at or the result of their efforts. in five minutes the torpedo-boat was badly holed for'ard and making water fast. "the cowardly skunks!" exclaimed kenneth, frantically restarting the motor. the epithet was justifiable, for the commander of the torpedo-boat was endeavouring to use the little motor-boat as a screen from her enemy's fire. owing to the already crippled condition of the german craft, kenneth could easily out-manoeuvre her. in spite of the risk of a shell from the exasperated teuton, he kept his vessel about half a mile from the torpedo-boat and awaited the inevitable ending. it was not long in coming. torn by the well-aimed shells, her mast, funnels, and deck fittings swept clean away, the torpedo-boat settled down. from amidships a cloud of black smoke, tinged with lurid flames, soared skywards. men were pouring up from the engine-room and throwing themselves into the sea. the other craft had ceased firing. she was coming up quickly, and could now be distinguished as a british e-class destroyer. suddenly the doomed vessel gave a roll to starboard, flung her stern in the air, and with her triple propellers racing madly, disappeared from sight, leaving a heavy pall of smoke to mark the spot when she sank. "we must pick up those fellows," announced kenneth, pointing to about twenty heads bobbing in the water. "i'll slow down as close as i can. mind your wrist, rollo." three minutes later all the crew of the motor-boat were busily engaged in hauling half-drowned, and for the most part wounded, german seamen into their craft, till eleven men, the sole survivors of the luckless torpedo-boat, were rescued. "you belgians?" asked one, in broken french, when he saw the lads' uniforms. "good! we surrender to you." "you'll be transferred to that vessel," said kenneth, pointing to the now close british destroyer. "no, they will shoot us," exclaimed the terrified man. "nonsense!" replied kenneth. "british seamen are not like----" he was on the point of saying "germans", but pulled himself up and added "pirates". nevertheless the german seamen were not easily reassured. their officers had impressed upon them that the british navy took no prisoners, and they firmly believed it. "motor-boat ahoy! what craft is that?" sang out a lieutenant, as the british destroyer reversed her engines and came to a standstill at her own length from the little vessel. it was a grand, inspiring sight to the refugees to see the white ensign floating proudly from the mast-heads of the destroyer. practically untouched in her duel with her antagonist, she looked as spick and span as when she first commissioned at chatham dockyard, only a week previously. "we're british in the belgian service: refugees from antwerp," replied kenneth. "we thought you were one of our motor-boat reserve craft in difficulties," said the officer. "luckily we heard the firing, and closed to investigate. we'll take charge of your prisoners; can you run alongside?" stalwart bluejackets, stripped to their singlets, and grimy stokers crowded to the stanchion rails to watch the transhipment of the captured germans. "do you want a passage back to sheerness?" asked the lieutenant. "if you wouldn't mind taking my sister and her friend," replied kenneth, "we'll stick to the motor-boat." "but you're both wounded," exclaimed the officer. "come aboard, all of you. we'll make you as comfortable as we can, considering we are cleared for action." "but the boat?" protested kenneth; for, having carried them so far, it seemed hard lines that she would have to be abandoned. "don't worry about that," said the lieutenant. "i'll put an artificer and a couple of men aboard, and let them run her into the medway." the genial officer courteously assisted thelma and yvonne over the side. rollo followed with a fair amount of agility, considering his disabled wrist. lastly kenneth left his first command. as he gained the corticened decks of the destroyer he pulled himself up and thankfully saluted the diminutive quarter-deck, on which floated the white ensign--the emblem of freedom. then a grey mist swam before his eyes and he felt himself falling. * * * * * two days later there was a happy reunion at an hotel at sheerness. summoned by telegraph, all the members of the barrington and everest families who were not employed on active service hastened to welcome home their young heroes. with them came major résimont, now well on the road to recovery, and for the time being a guest of mr. everest. "i should think you lads have had enough of this terrible war," remarked mrs. everest at the conclusion of their narrative. "we've only seen the beginning," declared kenneth gravely. "as soon as this little hurt of mine has healed, i want to go back." "and i too," added rollo. colonel barrington flushed with pride. "of course," he said, "it ought to be a fairly simple matter, considering your experience, to get a commission. it is merely a case of applying to the war office." "and undergoing six months' training at home, pater?" "presumably." "by that time the war may be over," said kenneth. "in any case we will be out of it for six months. what do you say, rollo?" "we've put our hand to the plough, old man. i vote, as soon as we are able, we rejoin our old regiment. the 9th of the line is now between ostend and nieuport, sir?" "i believe so," replied major résimont. "then that settles it, unless our people raise serious objection," declared kenneth resolutely. "as long as we have health and strength we will take our places with our comrades of the 9th, until belgium is freed from the grey-clad troops of germany." blackie's stories of school life _illustrated. in attractive wrapper_ by richard bird trouble at wyndham. boys of dyall's house. captain of keynes. dawson's score. thanks to rugger. the moreleigh mascot. carton's cap. play the game, torbury! the big five at ellerby. touch and go. by alfred judd forrester's fag. derry of dunn's house. by r. a. h. goodyear tom at tollbar school. forge of foxenby. by walter rhoades jimmy cranston's crony. the whip hand. two scapegraces. george goes one better. jeffrey havilton. godfrey gets there. arthur o. cooke. on the ball. sydney horler. george pulls it off. jeffrey havilton. planter dick. arthur o. cooke. barnston's big year. michael poole. harold comes to school. jeffrey havilton. out of school. jeffrey havilton. the captain of stannard's. michael poole. books for boys and girls _crown 8vo. illustrated_ sleuths of the air. percy f. westerman. on secret service. ralph arnold. binkie of iiib. evelyn smith. a madcap brownie. sibyl b. owsley. septima at school. evelyn smith. the corsair of the skies. guy vercoe. seven sisters at queen anne's. evelyn smith. hope's tryst. bessie marchant. held at ransom. bessie marchant. smuggler's luck. frank charleston. dispatch riders. percy f. westerman. the little betty wilkinson. evelyn smith. the disappearing dhow. percy f. westerman. the good ship "golden effort". percy f. westerman. barbara at school. josephine elder. biddy and quilla. evelyn smith. a lively bit of the front. percy f. westerman. pam and the countess. e. e. cowper. rounding up the raider. f. bayford harrison. a lad of grit. percy f. westerman. the liveliest term at templeton. richard bird. dr. jolliffe's boys. lewis hough. _printed in great britain_ 