CHAPTER IX.
DODGING TROUBLE.
The wagon road from Jamestown to Devil's Lake follows the railroad allthe way. At Minnewaukon, near the western end of the lake, the wagonroad to Fort Totten leaves the iron rails and points southeast.
The trail from Jamestown to Minnewaukon crosses a prairie almostas level as a floor, and the trail itself is like asphalt. FromMinnewaukon southeast, the road is not so well traveled. Formerly themail was hauled from Minnewaukon to the post by wagon, but the mailcarrier was put out of business by a launch that crossed the lakefrom Devil's Lake City, on the north shore. The garrison at the fort,too, has dwindled to a corporal's guard, so that the post has becomepractically abandoned.
Black's car was not a late model. It had the obsolete rear-entrancetonneau, and was equipped with a four-cylinder thirty-horse-powermotor. However, the car could "go." It would have been a poor car,indeed, which could not show its heels on such a road.
It was eight o'clock when Matt, McGlory, Ping, and Black ducked out ofJimtown, and struck into the trail that followed the railroad track andthe river. Black attended to the driving, and Matt occupied the seat athis side. McGlory and Ping occupied the tonneau.
Matt explained to Black that there was a car, somewhere ahead, whichthey wanted to beat to the post trader's store at Fort Totten; also,that the car ahead was filled with men who were not on friendly termswith Matt and his companions.
Black was a man of spirit.
"You want to pass that car, then," said he, "and you want to dodgetrouble?"
"Exactly," agreed Matt. "We don't want to butt into any trouble if wecan help it. A whole lot depends upon our getting to the post trader'sstore right side up with care, and ahead of the other outfit."
"We'll do what we can," and Black nursed the car to its best speed.
The night was cool, the sky was cloudless, and the two acetylene lampsburned holes in the dark far in advance of the car as it devoured themiles. The forward rush, and the motor's music, thrilled Matt as theyalways did whenever he was connected with a speeding engine.
They whipped through a little town, hardly glimpsing the scatteredlights before they had left them astern.
"This machine is a back number," remarked Black, "but she can slidealong pretty well, for all that."
"You're right," said Matt. "I never saw a car with a rear door thatcould hold a candle to this one. But the road helps. It's like aboulevard."
"Take these Dakota roads, when they're neither too wet nor too dry,and they're hard to beat. We're going to lose time, though, goingaround the sloughs."
"Sloughs?" queried Matt.
"Just bog holes," went on Black. "They gully the prairie, here andthere, have no inlet or outlet, and the water rises and falls in'em like tides of the ocean. Queer, and I don't think the rise andfall have ever been explained. A wagon with high wheels can spraddlethrough, but low wheels and a lot of weight have to go round. But thecar ahead will have to go around, too. There's one of the sloughs, justahead. We'll begin going around it right here."
Having been for several years in the real estate business, sellingfarms up and down the Jim River, Black had an accurate knowledge of thecountry.
Three extra miles were added to the journey by going around the sloughnorth of Parkhurst. But this was a whole lot better than taking achance and miring down.
"Did you know Harry Traquair, Mr. Black?" Matt asked, when they wereonce more in the road and forging ahead.
"I did," answered Black, "and he was one of the finest fellows youever met. Still, for all that, I thought he was a little bit 'cracked'on the flying-machine question. He was always of an inventive turn,and he built his first a?roplane in his head, up on his farm in WellsCounty, long before he ever came to Jimtown and built one of canvas,and spruce, and wire guys. The Traquairs have had pretty hard sleddingfor the last three years. Mrs. Traquair had all the faith in the worldin her husband, but she was possessed with the idea that some accidentwas going to happen to him, and she was never around when he flew thea?roplane. Too bad Harry Traquair had to be killed just as he was aboutto give his machine the first government test."
"That's the way luck runs, sometimes," said Matt. "What town's that?"he added, as they whisked through another cluster of lights.
"Buchanan," answered Black. "Say, but we're coming! The next place isPingree, then Edmunds, then Melville. After Melville we'll swoop intoCarrington, the biggest town between Jamestown and the lake. Here'swhere I'm going to hit 'er up for the last ounce of power in hercylinders. Hold on to your teeth, everybody!"
More gasoline and a faster spark hurled the car onward in a way thatmade Ping chatter and hang to the rail behind the front seats.
Then something went wrong. The motor began to miss fire, the speedslackened, and the motor died with a gasping splutter.
"Oh, hang the luck!" growled Black, getting down.
While Matt kept hands off, Black tried out the primary circuit, thenthe secondary, then the buzzer. After that he cranked and cranked, butnothing happened except a distressing cough when the engine tried tostart.
"Wouldn't that knock you slabsided?" growled Black. "I guess I'll haveto take the carburetor to pieces, run pins through the spray nozzle andsandpaper the float guides. If that don't work, I'll go under the carand take off the fuel pipe, and----"
"It's a gravity feed, isn't it?" asked Matt.
"Yes."
"Well, don't lose any time on the carburetor, just yet."
Matt got at the gasoline tank. What he did Black couldn't see, but hewasn't more than a minute doing it.
"Now turn over your engine," said Matt, as he climbed back into hisseat.
Black gave the crank a pull, and the pleasant chug in the explosionchamber came to his ears.
"What the dickens did you do?" he asked, dropping in behind thesteering wheel and getting the car under way.
"The tank vent was clogged," explained Matt. "You can't feed by gravityif the gasoline tank is hermetically sealed."
"That's right; but how did you know the vent was plugged?"
"By the noise."
Black turned this over in his mind as they rushed onward.
"I guess you know a thing or two about motors," he remarked. "I neverheard of a fellow who could tell the tank was hermetically sealedmerely by the noise of the engine."
"It takes practice," said Matt, "that's all."
Pingree, Edmunds, and Melville were passed in record time, and the carrushed into Carrington at a quarter to ten. Carrington was quite atown, and the party halted to make some inquiries about the car thatwas preceding them.
From a man at one of the hotels they learned that a car had stoppedat a filling station, about nine o'clock, and had dashed on to thenorthward about nine-fifteen. There were four men in the car, and oneof them was Siwash Charley.
Siwash Charley seemed to be well known through that section, and thefact that the man at the hotel knew him made Matt and his friendscertain that their enemies were less than an hour ahead.
"We're gaining on 'em!" cried McGlory, as the car shot through theoutskirts of Carrington. "If we can keep on gaining, we'll reach thepost trader's with ground to spare."
"We're good for it," averred Black. "Hold onto your hair and eyebrows."
The air fairly sang in the ears of the boys as the real estate man,throwing himself spiritedly into the contest, hurled his machine onwardover the hard roadbed.
They flashed through a couple of towns which, Black said, were Divideand Sheyenne.
"The next place," the real estate man went on, "is Oberon. After thatcomes Lallie, and then Minnewaukon. But it's a waste of time to go toMinnewaukon. If we went there, we'd have to come southeast to Totten.We can leave the road at Lallie and go northeast to Totten, thus savinga few miles and considerable time. If----"
He broke off with a startled exclamation. Then, in a twinkling, it wasout clutch, down brake, and a kick at the switch.
Another car, at a dead stop in the
road ahead, had come like a blotunder the glow of their lamps.
At that point the prairie was level, and no such thing as fences wereto be seen.
"Sufferin' hold-ups!" exclaimed McGlory. "Something's gone wrong withthe Siwash outfit. Look! Two of the gang are plugging this way."
The cowboy had "called the turn." Two dark forms untangled themselvesfrom the dusky blot in the road which represented the car, and wererunning back along the trail. As the figures came closer, it could beseen that they were carrying rifles.
"Quick!" hissed Matt in Black's ear. "Go around the car--take to theprairie. We can make it if there's gas enough in the cylinders to takethe spark."
As luck would have it, the engine took the spark and Black worked thecar rapidly out of the road, heading so as to give the other car a wideberth.
The dry grass crunched under the swiftly moving tires, and the carleaped away as Black coaxed her to do her best.
"Halt!" shouted a husky voice; "halt, or we'll put a bullet into you!"
"Drop down!" ordered Matt; "they're going to shoot."
"Let 'em shoot," said Black pluckily. "It's pretty dark for accuratefiring, and we'll be out of range in a minute. I----"
Sping! Sping!
Two reports came from behind, two flashes leaped from the guns, and twobullets fanned the air close to the occupants of the car.
But the car dashed on over the rolling turf, and presently regained theroad, once more, well in advance of the other automobile.
"I guess that's dodging trouble, all right!" muttered Black, with agrim laugh.
Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for Fame and Fortune Page 9
