Motor Matt's Make-and-Break; or, Advancing the Spark of Friendship

by Stanley R. Matthews

  CHAPTER XII.

  THE TRAIL TO THE RIVER.

  Joe McGlory and Ping were in a fine good humor. They had left thehorses and rifles for the Tin Cup men and, from the top of a distanthill, they had watched the party recover the live stock and the guns.Then, laughing and congratulating themselves, the boys had ducked inamong the cottonwoods of the creek bottom and started along the trailto the river.

  "Plenty fine," chattered Ping. "By Klismus, my gettee heap fun thistlip. Woosh!"

  "We played 'em to a fare-you-well," laughed McGlory, pausing to extendhis hand to Ping. "Shake, my little heathen brother! You're the finestbit of the Yellow Peril that ever landed in the U. S. You've got a headon you, you have. Why, you savvied right off what I wanted you to dowith those guns, and I didn't have to say a word."

  "My savvy look you makee all same eye," chuckled Ping. "Top-sidepidgin! One piecee fine bizness."

  Then, abruptly, Ping had a swift, paralyzing thought.

  "Mebbyso Melican men makee chase fo' McGloly and Ping, huh?" he cried."Plaps we lun, ketchee Matt, no lettee Melican men ketchee us?"

  "Oh, shucks, Ping!" exclaimed McGlory disgustedly. "When you forgetyourself, now and then, and do a particularly bright thing, you spoilit all by some break of that sort. Those punchers don't know wherewe're going! And what sort of a trail are we leaving?" The cowboyturned and looked back over the ground they had covered. "All buffalograss," he finished, "and the Tin Cup outfit couldn't run us down in athousand years."

  But Ping's fears persisted, in spite of McGlory's attempt to smotherthem.

  "My no likee," he quavered, pausing again and again to look back asthey traveled. "Mebbyso they ketchee, they takee scalp. My no likee.Losee pigtail, no go back to China ally mo'."

  "Well, well, don't blubber about it!" exclaimed McGlory. "You'll keepthe pigtail, all right, though what in Sam Hill it's good for is morethan I know. Buck up, step high, wide, and handsome, and don't lose somuch time looking around. Just stow it away in your mind, Ping, thatevery step on the trail to the river brings us that much closer to PardMatt."

  McGlory took the lead and set a brisk pace.

  "Didn't Matt get away in great shape?" he called out, as he strodealong. "And that rope Spearman tied to the machine didn't amount to arow of dobies."

  "Cloud Joss heap fine fo' tlavel," remarked Ping. "Feet tlavel plentytough fo' China boy."

  "I guess the circus we pulled off, back there on that hill, was worththe price, Ping. Don't grumble. There was something doing, and you andI answered to roll-call during the height of the agitation. LittleChop Suey and your Uncle Joe had something to say and do every minutethe curtain was up. Oh, shucks! I'm tickled to death with myself.I'll be plumb contented, now, if nothing happens to me for the nextfifteen minutes. Wonder how Matt's getting along, advancing that spark?Something gives me a hunch and whispers in my ear that he's having hishands full. Put your best foot forward, Ping, and let's see how quickwe can get to where we're going."

  "No gottee best foot," complained Ping. "Both feets allee same bum.Cleek makee bend, makee bend, makee bend; heap walkee to go li'l way."

  "That's right," agreed McGlory. "Sufferin' serpents, how the creektwists! Suppose we climb to the top of this hill on the right and seeif we can't work a cut-off on the pesky stream."

  "Awri'," agreed Ping, and followed McGlory to the top of the hill.

  From the crest they had an extensive view in every direction; in fact,it was almost too extensive, for behind them they glimpsed the Tin Cupmen, racing back and forth over the uplifts, scattered widely andhunting for "signs."

  McGlory muttered to himself and slipped off the top of the hill like ashot. Ping gasped as he followed.

  "They ketchee China boy," he wailed, "him losee pigtail."

  "Oh, hush about that," growled McGlory. "Do you know where we was lame,Ping?"

  "My plenty lame in feet," said Ping.

  "I mean, where we made a hobble. It was by not keeping two of thosehorses and using them to take us to the mouth of Burnt Creek."

  "Woosh! We ketchee Matt now, Melican men follow tlail, ketchee Matt,too. Motol Matt go top-side, we all go top-side. Plenty bad pidgin."

  "If they're really following us, which I don't think," remarkedMcGlory, "we'll fool 'em."

  "No fool 'em twice."

  "You watch. We'll take the longest way to the river and get that bunchaway from the creek."

  Ping groaned at the thought of more walking. He could have stood thejourney better if he had not been compelled to hang onto his grasssandals with his toes.

  McGlory scuttled off between the coteaus, and every once in a while hewould climb to the top of a hill to reconnoiter along the back track.Finally, to his great satisfaction, he lost sight of the Tin Cup men.

  "That means," said he, when he reported the fact to Ping, "that we'refree, once more, to get to the mouth of Burnt Creek as soon as we can."

  From that on there was little talking. The boys needed their breath forthe work before them. As before, McGlory led the way and Ping hoppedand scuffled along behind him.

  An occasional hill was scaled to get the bearings of the creek andwatch out for the river. McGlory gave a shout of joy when he finallysaw the broad ribbon of muddy water in the distance ahead.

  "We're close to where we're bound for, Ping," he said cheerily. "We'vebeen two or three hours on the hike, but you trail along and I'll landyou at the junction of the creek and the river in less than twentyminutes. Whoop-ya! I'm guessing about Matt. Has it been make or breakwith him? And how has the spark worked? I'm all stirred up with thenotion that he's having a time. Ever get a hunch like that and not beable to explain how you got it?"

  "No savvy hunch," groaned Ping. "Let's findee place to makee sit inshade. Heap tired."

  "We'll sit in the shade and rest and enjoy ourselves after we findMatt. Keep a-moving, Ping, keep a-moving."

  A pass between two hills brought them out into the creek bottom again.The sun was getting low in the west, but it was still uncomfortablywarm, and the shade of the cottonwood trees was refreshing. Pingtottered along with his eyes on McGlory's heels. Suddenly the cowboystopped and whirled around.

  "Look!" he murmured, pointing.

  The Chinaman swerved his weary eyes in the direction indicated and sawthe sod shack.

  "Hoop-a-la!" he exclaimed.

  "I hear voices in there," whispered McGlory, "and I'll bet Pard Matt'sbusy laying down the law to Newt Prebbles. Let's not interrupt, butslip carefully up to the door and get the lay of the land before webutt in."

  Ping was for getting to a place of comfort and refreshment in theshortest possible time; but, as usual, he deferred to the superiorwisdom of the cowboy.

  Silently they stole toward the open door of the hut. Through theopening there came to them the sound of a voice. It was a strangevoice, and the words were not distinguishable.

  While they were still some distance from the door, the voice wasblotted out by the impact of a blow; and immediately there came a crashas of something being overturned.

  McGlory was no longer anxious to "get the lay of the land" beforebutting into Matt's argument with Newt Prebbles. In an instant hejumped for the door and stood peering into the hut.

  The scene before him was difficult to comprehend. A chair had beenoverturned, and there was a form--no, two forms--lying on the floorbeside it. Then, too, there was some one else, a man, bending over oneof the forms.

  The dark interior of the shack was not favorable to a clear survey ofthe scene by eyes but recently turned from the glaring sunshine.

  McGlory, however, caught one detail of the picture that wrenched asharp cry from his lips.

  "Murgatroyd!" he shouted.

  The bent form lifted itself with catlike quickness, _Crack!_ The sharpnote of a revolver rattled through the narrow room, followed by awarning shout in a well-known voice:

  "Look out, Joe! It's Murgatroyd, and he's in a killing mood!"

  Matt was in the room, bound a
nd helpless. That was the next detail thatflashed before the eyes of McGlory.

  Murgatroyd's shot had missed. Mad with rage, he was making ready tofire again.

  Blindly, desperately, the cowboy flung himself across the room. PardMatt was there, and in danger. Think of himself, McGlory would not.

  The demons in the broker's eyes glowered murderously along the sightsof the leveled weapon. It seemed as though nothing could save thecowboy.

  At just that moment, however, a window behind the broker crashedinward. A stone, hurled by Ping with all his force, had shattered theglass, plunged across the gap, and struck Murgatroyd's arm.

  The arm dropped as though paralyzed, and the broker staggered sidewayswith a cry of pain. McGlory sprang upon him, and the two werestruggling fiercely when Ping raced into the room and took a hand inthe battle.

  Murgatroyd, with only one hand, was no match for his wiry youngantagonists.

  As Newt and Murgatroyd had overpowered Matt, so the cowboy and theChinaman wrestled and secured the advantage of Murgatroyd.

  One of the forms on the floor slowly lifted itself and became busy withthe cords around Matt's wrists.

  "I can do the rest, Newt," said Matt, sitting up and freeing his ankles.

  A few moments more and the tables had been completely turned.Murgatroyd was now the prisoner, and the king of the motor boys and hisfriends were in command of the situation.