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

by Stanley R. Matthews

  CHAPTER IX.

  MOTOR MATT'S CHASE.

  Meanwhile, the king of the motor boys, without the remotest idea as towhat was happening to his cowboy pard, was exacting his own tributefrom the realm of exciting events.

  When he started after Sam Wing, Matt had no time to give to any oneelse. He supposed that McGlory was following him, but was altogethertoo busy to look behind and make sure. It was a trifling matter,anyhow. The main thing was to catch Sam Wing, and Matt threw himselfinto the pursuit with ardor.

  McGlory, it will be remembered, had worked upon the theory that theChinaman, eager to get as far from the road as possible, had gone overthe hill. But this was incorrect. Sam Wing hustled along the hillsideslope, his course paralleling the valley and the road.

  Very early in the chase the Chinaman lost his grass sandals, and alittle later his stockings, but loss of his footwear seemed to helprather than diminish his speed.

  Motor Matt was "no slouch" as a long-distance runner, but Sam Wingproved a handful for him. From time to time Matt would gain, coming soclose to the hustling Celestial that he shouted a call for him to stop,but the Chinaman, gathering himself together for a spurt, ducked awayto his usual lead, and the chase went merrily on.

  Once Matt nearly had him. A section of treacherous bank broke awayunder Sam Wing's feet, and the pursued man flung up his arms anddropped straight downward. Matt paused on the brink and looked belowfor three or four yards to a little shelf gouged from the bankside. SamWing, scarred and apparently senseless, was lying sprawled on the shelf.

  Matt slipped and slid downward, fairly certain that he was at the endof his exciting trail; but, just as his feet struck the shelf, theChinaman rolled over the edge and carromed away in a break-neck descentthat finally plunged him into the road.

  This was the identical road that led past the spring, and Matt and SamWing were somewhere between the spring and Gardenville. Where Martinwas with the automobile, Matt did not know, but if Martin had beenat that point in the road when the Chinaman rolled into it, an easycapture could have been made.

  There was some one in the road besides Sam Wing, however, and thetraveler was an old colored man, riding toward Gardenville on a mule.The mule and the colored man were about a hundred feet away from Wingwhen he got to his feet. As soon as the Chinaman's eyes rested on thelong-eared brute and its aged rider, he started at speed in theirdirection.

  Matt jumped into the road with less than twenty-five feet betweenhimself and Sam Wing. Once more he deceived himself with the idea thatthe chase was narrowing to a close.

  The mule, throwing its head and swinging its long ears, was amblingleisurely along the way. The old darky appeared to be in a doze.

  Matt, divining Sam Wing's intentions, gave vent to a warning yell. Thedarky aroused himself and flung a look over his shoulder. But it wastoo 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 hisnaked heels. Probably the mule was as startled as his former rider, forhe broke into a lumbering lope.

  The chase, just then, took on a hopeless outlook for Motor Matt. IfMartin had only happened along in the automobile, the fleeing Chinamancould have been brought up with a round turn, but Matt, with only hisfeet under him, could not hope to overtake the galloping mule.

  The darky, as Matt came up with him, was gathering in his raggedhat and climbing to an upright position. He wore a look of puzzledastonishment.

  "Ain't dat scan'lous?" he cried. "Ah done been slammed into de roadby er Chinymum! En he's got mah mu-el! He's er runnin' erway wif mahGin'ral Jackson mu-el. By golly, whaffur kind ob way is dat tuh treatan 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 oldnegro presented. "If we had another mule, I could catch the rascal, butit 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 acreek, en dat 'ar Chinyman ain't gwine tuh ride Gin'ral Jackson ovahdat bridge."

  "Why not?"

  "'Case dat fool mu-el won't cross no bridge if yo' doan' cotch his offeah en give hit a pull. Mu-els is mouty queer daterway, en Gin'ralJackson is a heap queerer dan any othah mu-el yo' most evah see. He'sskeered ob a bridge, en pullin' his off eah done takes his min' off'nde bridge, lak, en he goes ovah wifout mistrustin'. Now, dat yalluhChinymum trash doan' know dat, en ef he try to mek Gin'ral Jacksoncross de bridge wifout pullin' his off eah, dar's suah gwine to bedoin's, en----"

  Just at that moment a boy came along on a bicycle. He was evidentlymaking 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 andlooked inquiringly at Matt.

  "I wish you'd lend me your wheel for a few minutes," said Matt. "AChinaman just stole this old darky's mule, and I believe I can overhaulthe 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, andthat the mule won't cross the bridge unless he's coaxed. Perhaps I cancome up with the thief at the bridge."

  "There you are," said the stranger generously, getting out of thesaddle and holding the wheel for Matt.

  "Much obliged," returned Matt. "You and the darky come on to thebridge, and perhaps you'll find me rounding up the mule and theChinaman."

  "We'll do it," was the answer.

  Matt mounted easily, thrust his toes into the toe clips, and got underway. When he turned an angle of the road, and vanished behind a screenof 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 comingwithin sight of the bridge, and there, sure enough, were the Chinamanand the mule at the bridge approach.

  The Chinaman was having trouble. General Jackson would not cross thebridge, and he was braced back, immovable as the rock of Gibraltar. SamWing was using his heels and the flat of his hand in a furious attemptto 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 wasgrowing.

  Matt remained silent and bent to the pedals. While Sam Wing was busyurging the mule, Matt was planning to come alongside and treat theCelestial as he had treated the old negro.

  This design might have been successfully executed had not GeneralJackson interfered with it. The mule's temper suddenly gave wayunder the rain of kicks and blows, and he put his head down betweenhis forelegs and hoisted the rear half of his body into the air.The manoeuvre was as sudden as it was unexpected, and Sam Wing wentrocketing into space.

  The bridge was merely a plank affair, without any guard rails at thesides, and after the Chinaman had done a couple of somersaults in theair he landed with a thump on the bridge, close to the unprotectededge. He started to struggle upright, and the hurried movement causedhim to slip over the brink.

  He vanished from before Matt's eyes just as he had disappeared from thecaving bank--there was a flutter, a yell, a splash, and Sam Wing wasgone.

  Matt threw on the brake, jumped from the wheel, and, after leaning themachine against a tree, rushed to the bridge.

  The creek was narrow, but seemed to be deep, and the Chinaman wasfloating down with the current.

  There was no time for Matt to linger and explain events to thebicyclist and the negro. Each would recover his property, however, andthat ought to satisfy both of them. Springing from the bridge approach,Matt hurried down the bank of the little stream.<
br />
  The Chinaman, the king of the motor boys thought, must have been madeof india rubber to bear so well the series of mishaps that had come hisway. He came out of every one with astonishing ability to keep up hisflight.

  Matt's rush down the creek bank was not continued for long. Sam Wingsaw him and made haste to effect a landing on the opposite bank. Heemerged, a dripping and forlorn spectacle, and left a damp trail up thebank and into the woods.

  Matt did not care to swim the creek in his clothes, and a tree, fallenpartly 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 endof it, where the trunk had been splintered and broken away.

  With a clear, steady brain and sure feet the king of the motor boyspassed 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 hehad put into the jump displaced the tree and caused it to tumble intothe creek. It had served its purpose, however, and Matt, without abackward look, tore away along the watery trail of the Chinaman.