Motor Matt's Double Trouble; or, The Last of the Hoodoo

by Stanley R. Matthews

  Produced by David Edwards, Demian Katz and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Imagescourtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University(https://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_

  _"Stop!" shouted Motor Matt laying back on the end ofthe 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. Heseemed to have been in deep slumber in the car seat, but the drowsinesswas feigned. The train was not five minutes out of the town of Catskillbefore he had roused himself, wary and wide-awake, and looked acrossthe aisle. His look and manner gave evidence that he was meditatingsome crime.

  It was in the small hours of the morning, and the passenger train wasrattling and bumping through the heavy gloom. The lights in the coachhad been turned low, and all the passengers, with the exception of thethin-visaged Celestial, were sprawling in their uncomfortable seats,snoring or breathing heavily.

  Across the aisle from this criminally inclined native of the FloweryKingdom was another who likewise hailed from the land of pagodas andmystery; and this other, it could be seen at a glance, was a person ofsome consequence.

  He was fat, and under the average height. Drawn down over his shavenhead was a black silk cap, with a gleaming red button sewn in thecentre of the flat crown. From under the edge of the cap droppeda queue of silken texture, thick, and so long that it crossed theChinaman'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 thisCelestial's blouse was of yellow, and his wide trousers, and hisstockings--all yellow and of the finest Canton silk. His sandals wereblack and richly embroidered.

  From the button and the costume, one at all informed of fashions asfollowed in the country of Confucius might have guessed that this stoutperson was a mandarin. And that guess would have been entirely correct.

  To go further and reveal facts which will presently become the reader'sin the logical unfolding of this chronicle, the mandarin was none otherthan Tsan Ti, discredited guardian of the Honam joss house, situatedon an island suburb of the city of Canton. He of the slant, lawlessgleaming eyes was Sam Wing, the mandarin's trusted and treacherousservant.

  A Chinaman, like his Caucasian brother, is not always proof againsttemptation when the ugly opportunity presents itself at the right timeand in the right way. Sam Wing believed he had come face to face withsuch an opportunity, and he was determined to make the most of it.

  Sam Wing was a resident of San Francisco. He owned a fairly prosperousbazaar, and, once every year, turned his profits into Mexican dollarsand forwarded the silver to an uncle in Canton for investment in theland of his birth. Some day Sam Wing cherished the dream of returningto Canton and living like a grandee. But wealth came slowly. Now, therein that foreign devil's choo-choo car such a chance offered to secureunheard-of riches that Sam Wing's loyalty to the mandarin, no lessthan his heathen ideas of integrity, were brushed away with astoundingsuddenness.

  Tsan Ti slept. His round head was wabbling on his short neck--rollingand swaying grotesquely with every lurch of the train. The red buttonof the mandarin's cap caught the dim rays of the overhead lamps andthrew crimson gleams into the eyes of Sam Wing. This flashing buttonreminded Sam Wing of the red jewel, worth a king's ransom, which themandarin was personally conveying to San Francisco, en route to Chinaand the city of Canton.

  Already Sam Wing was intrusted with the mandarin's money bag--analligator-skin pouch containing many oblong pieces of green papermarked with figures of large denomination. The money was good, whatthere 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 Wingcaught at the back of the seat in front and lifted himself erect. Hewas not a handsome Chinaman, by any means, and he appeared particularlyrepulsive just at that moment.

  Hanging to the seat, he steadied himself as he stepped lightly acrossthe aisle. Another moment and he was at the mandarin's side, lookingdown on him.

  Tsan Ti, in his dreams, was again in Canton. Striding through the greatchamber of the Honam joss house, he was superintending the return ofthe red jewel to the forehead of the twenty-foot idol, whence it hadbeen stolen.

  While the mandarin dreamed, Sam Wing bent down over him and, withcautious fingers, unfastened the loop of silk cord that held togetherthe front of the yellow blouse. The rich garment fell open, revealing asmall bag hanging from the mandarin's throat by a chain.

  Swiftly, silently, and with hardly a twitch of the little bag, two ofSam Wing's slim, long-nailed fingers were inserted, and presently drewforth a r
esplendent gem, large as a small hen's egg.

  A gasping breath escaped Sam Wing's lips. For a fraction of an instanthe hesitated. What if his ancestors were regarding him, looking out ofthe vastness of the life to come with stern disapproval? A Chinamanworships his ancestors, and the shades of the ancient ones of his bloodhave a great deal to do with the regulating of his life. What were SamWing's forefathers thinking of this act of vile treachery?

  The thief ground his teeth and, with trembling hands, stowed the redjewel in the breast of his blouse. He started toward the rear door ofthe car--and hesitated again.

  Sam Wing was a Buddhist, as the Chinese understand Buddhism, wrappingit up in their own mystic traditions. This red jewel had originallybeen stolen from a great idol of Buddha. In short, the jewel had beenthe idol's eye, and the idol, sightless in the Honam joss house, wasbelieved to be in vengeful mood because of the missing optic. The idolhad marshalled all the ten thousand demons of misfortune and had letthem loose upon all who had anything to do with the pilfering of thesacred jewel.

  Who was Sam Wing that he should defy these ten thousand demons ofmisfortune? How could he, a miserable bazaar man, fight the demons?

  But his skin tingled from the touch of the red jewel against hisbreast. He would dare all for the vast wealth which might be his incase he could "get away with the goods."

  Closing his eyes to honor, to the ten thousand demons, to every articleof his heathen faith, he bolted for the rear of the car. Opening thedoor, he let himself out on the rear platform. A lurch of the carcaused the door to slam behind him.

  Meanwhile Tsan Ti had continued his delightful dreaming. Hissubconscious mind was watching the priests as they worked with the redjewel, replacing it in the idol's forehead. The hideous face of thegraven image seemed to glow with satisfaction because of the recoveryof 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 tilesof the floor, and rolled away, and away, until it vanished.

  A yell of consternation burst from the mandarin's lips. He leapedforward to secure the red jewel--and came to himself with his headaching from a sharp blow against the seat back in front.

  He straightened up, and the alarm died out of his face. After all, itwas 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. "Ihad a dream, a bad dream."

  "Too much bird's-nest soup an' too many sharks' fins for supper, Iguess," scowled the man, rearranging himself for slumber. "Pah!"

  Tsan Ti peered across the aisle. The seat occupied by his servant, SamWing, was vacant. Sam Wing, the mandarin thought, must have becomethirsty and gone for a drink.

  The mandarin heaved a choppy sigh of relief. How real a dream sometimesis! Now, if he----

  His hand wandered instinctively to the breast of his blouse, and hefelt for the little lump contained in the bag suspended from his throat.

  He could not feel it. Pulling himself together sharply Tsan Ti usedboth hands in his groping examination.

  Then he caught his breath and sat as though dazed. A slow horror ranthrough his body. His blood seemed congealing about his heart, and hisyellow 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, TsanTi 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! Byjing!"

  The mandarin began running up and down the aisle of the car, wringinghis fat hands and yelling for Sam Wing. He said other things, too, butit 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 stationshone through the car windows. The brakeman jammed open the door andshouted a name.

  "Motor Matt!" wailed Tsan Ti. "Estimable friend, come to my wretchedassistance!"

  "Here, brakeman!" cried the wrathful passenger who had already airedhis views, "take this slant-eyed lunatic by the collar of his kimonoand give him a hi'st into the right of way. Chinks ought to be carriedin 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 reardoor, nearly overturning the astounded brakeman. Once on the stationplatform, he made a bee line for the waiting room and the telegraphoffice.

  There was but one person in all America in whom the mandarin had anyconfidence, but one person to whom he would appeal. This was the kingof the motor boys, who, at that moment, was in the town of Catskill.