Motor Matt's Reverse; or, Caught in a Losing Cause

by Stanley R. Matthews

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE AIR LINE INTO TROUBLE.

  Motor Matt had the Wells County country firmly fixed in his mind. Hehad never been over it, but he had studied the map and secured a fairlygood theoretical knowledge. Sykestown was at the end of the branchroad, the railroads east and west, and north and south, forming a rightangle with respect to Fort Totten. Carrington, the junction point, wasat the corner of the angle.

  By using the a?roplane, Matt believed he could fly straight across thegap between Fort Totten and Sykestown, giving Carrington a wide berth.There were some hills, but what were hills and roads to him while inthe air? Rough country would bother the automobile--it could not affectthe a?roplane.

  A?roplanes, Matt had gathered from his reading on the subject, werepeculiar in this, that no two machines ever conduct themselves exactlythe same in flight. A pair of "flyers" may be built exactly on thesame model, with all dimensions and power equipment identical, and yetthe moment they leave earth and launch themselves into the blue eachdevelops eccentricities peculiar to itself. In a great measure, everymachine has to be "learned."

  This was the one point that bothered Matt. Would the new a?roplane beeasy or difficult to learn? If difficult, he might have to make a fewtrial flights at Camp Traquair before setting off for Sykestown.

  Morning dawned propitiously. The sun was bright, the day cloudless, andonly a breath of air stirring.

  While the boys were at breakfast, Cameron came chugging into campwith a powerful touring car--a six-cylinder, sixty horse, so trim and"classy"-looking that Matt had to smother a fierce desire to drop intothe driver's seat and change his plans.

  Soldiers, under Sergeant O'Hara, were to strip the camp while the boyswere away, removing everything to the post.

  In building the a?roplane, Matt had made a number of departures fromTraquair's original designs. One of these was the equipping of theflying machine with two gasoline tanks instead of one, the supply offuel being taken from either at will.

  With tanks full and oil chambers brimming, McGlory and Cameron pushedthe a?roplane into the road. Just before Matt took his seat thelieutenant tried to force upon him a loaded six-shooter.

  Matt waved it away with a laugh. "I'd rather trust to my heels,Cameron," he said, "than to one of those things."

  "But you might need it," insisted Cameron.

  "Couldn't use it if I did. When a fellow's up in an a?roplane bothhands are occupied."

  "We'll keep up with you, pard," said McGlory.

  "I don't think you will, Joe, if everything works as I hope and expect.I'm going in an air line, while you fellows will have to follow theroad. Where'll we meet in case we get separated?"

  "Sykestown, to-morrow morning," suggested Cameron.

  "All right," Matt answered as he took his seat on the lower plane andswung his feet to the foot rest. "Don't run with her to give her astart--let's see if I can't get her off without any help."

  McGlory, Cameron, and Ping drew away and watched. The motor began topop, and then to settle into a steady hum. A pull at a lever sent thepower into the bicycle wheels. The a?roplane leaped off along thehard road, gradually increasing its speed as the air under the wingscontinued to lighten the weight on the wheels. At a distance of ahundred feet the a?roplane soared into the air, under perfect control.

  Those on the ground, as well as the soldiers engaged in stripping thecamp, gave three hearty cheers.

  "Hoop-a-la!" chattered Ping. "Him plenty fine Cloud Joss."

  "Matt's a?roplane is a better one than that of Traquair's--it fliessteadier," averred Cameron, enthusiastically.

  "Speak to me about this!" muttered the cowboy, his eyes on the greatwhite machine as it swooped upward and onward toward the west. "Let'sdig out, pards," he added, suddenly starting toward the automobile."We've got to put in some mighty good licks if we keep up withMile-a-minute Matt."

  Ping had already thrown a bag of rations into the tonneau of the motorcar, and Cameron sprang around in front and began cranking. Just as theengine took up its cycle, and Cameron was starting to take his seat atthe steering wheel, McGlory called his attention to a trooper who wasgalloping down from the direction of the post trader's.

  "What do you suppose that swatty is after, Cameron?" the cowboy asked."He's coming this way just a-smoking, and look how he's waving hisarms. Something's up."

  "We've got to wait for him," growled the lieutenant, "and that means welose a couple of minutes. And we haven't got many minutes to waste,"he added, with a look at the swiftly diminishing white speck in thewestern sky.

  "Telegram for Motor Matt, leftenant," cried the trooper, reining in hishorse and jerking a yellow envelope from his belt.

  "You're too late, Latham," said Cameron. "Motor Matt's swinging againstthe sky, a mile away."

  "The operator says it's important," insisted Latham.

  "I hate to tamper with Pard Matt's telegrams," remarked McGlory, "but Ireckon I'd better read this one. What do you say, Cameron?"

  "Read it--and be quick. I'll start, as I don't think there'll be anyanswer to send back. Anyhow, if there should be an answer we'll forwardit from Minnewaukon."

  The fretting motor had its power thrown into the wheels. As it glidedaway at steadily increasing speed, McGlory tore the end off theenvelope and drew out the inclosed sheet. The next moment he gave awild yell.

  The cowboy was on the seat beside Cameron, and the latter caught hisbreath and gave him an amazed sidelong look. McGlory's face had gonewhite under its tan and he had slumped back in his seat.

  "What in Sam Hill is the matter, McGlory?" cried Cameron.

  The cowboy jerked himself together and leaned toward the lieutenant.

  "Overhaul the flyin' machine!" he shouted hoarsely. "You've got to! Ifwe don't get a word with Matt something's sure going to happen to him."

  "How's that?" asked the startled Cameron.

  Ping, catching the general alarm, leaned over the back of the seat.

  "Telle pidgin!" he implored. "What tleleglam say, huh?"

  "It's from Mrs. Traquair," replied McGlory.

  "From Mrs. Traquair?" echoed Cameron. "Then she's got away fromMurgatroyd and his rascally hirelings."

  "Got away from 'em?" bellowed McGlory. "Why, they never had her atthat homestead! The whole blooming business is a frame-up, just as Ithought, all along. Murgatroyd and Siwash Charley are trying to playeven with Matt. Hit her up, can't you, Cameron? For Heaven's sake, lether out! If you don't Matt will get away from us and drop right intothe hands of those scheming scoundrels."

  Cameron pushed the automobile for all it was worth. The ground racedout from under the flying wheels. The road was like asphalt, and thespeedometer indicator ran up and up until it pointed to fifty miles anhour.

  "Do better than that!" cried McGlory, his wild eyes on the white speckin the sky. "You've got to do better than that, Cameron. Matt said hecould do sixty miles. If you can't equal that, Murg and his men willbeat us out."

  Cameron had sixty horses under the touch of his fingers, but there wasnothing he could do to send the automobile at a faster gait.

  "Where did the telegram come from?" he shouted, bending over the wheeland watching the road as it rushed toward the swaying car.

  "From Jamestown," yelled McGlory.

  They had to talk at the top of their voices in order to make themselvesheard in the wind of their flight.

  "What does it say?"

  "It says that Mrs. Traquair has been making a little visit withfriends in Fargo; that she has just got back and found Matt'stelegram; and that she is well. That proves that this whole game is atrap--Hackberry, Hackberry's letters, and all. Oh, sufferin' tinhorns!I'm crazy to fight, crazy to do something to stop Matt and to put acrimp in in that gang of sharks and double-dyed villains. Can't you doany better than this, Cameron?"

  Cameron was doing all that he possibly could. The a?roplane was a merespeck against the blue of the sky, steadily increasing the distancethat separated it from the racing automob
ile.

  "We no ketchee!" panted Ping. "By Klismus, Motol Matt all same eaglebird. Woosh! No ketchee!"

  "The Chink's got it right, McGlory," cried Cameron. "Unless somethinghappens to the a?roplane we'll never overhaul it. Matt's gaining on usright along."

  "And all we can do is to watch and let him gain," fumed the cowboy. "Ifeel like I did, once, when I was tied hand and foot and gagged while agang of roughs were setting fire to a boathouse in which Pard Matt layasleep. Oh, speak to me about this!"

  Then, all at once, the motor went wrong, and the car lost speed untilit came to a dead stop. McGlory groaned.

  "Of course this had to happen," he stormed. "If you're ever in a hurrysomething is bound to go wrong with these blooming chug carts. We'reout of the race, Cameron. Take your time, take your time. Hang theconfounded luck, anyway."

  Cameron got down and went feverishly to work locating the trouble. Pingtumbled out of the tonneau and fluttered around, dancing up and down inhis excitement and anxiety.

  McGlory did not get out of his seat. Gloomily he kept his eyes on thefading speck in the heavens until he could see it no more.

  "It's out of sight," he muttered heavily.

  "The a?roplane?" asked Cameron, fumbling with the sparking apparatus.

  "What else do you think I mean?" snapped the cowboy, in his worsthumor. "Matt's done for, and all we can do is sit here and let him rushon at the rate of a mile a minute straight into the trap that has beenset for him. Sufferin' snakes! Did you ever run into anything like thisbefore?"