CHAPTER XI.
A REVELATION FOR MATT.
Motor Matt, in spite of his helpless situation, was not at all worriedabout his own safety. What did alarm him, though, was the plot whichMurgatroyd seemed to be putting through with so much success.
Why had the broker written the letters to Cameron, McGlory, and Mrs.Traquair? What did they contain? And why should a letter be written toMrs. Traquair when she, like Matt, was supposed to be a prisoner ofMurgatroyd's?
These were all matters of grave import, and the king of the motor boysturned them over and over in his mind.
He knew that Murgatroyd, for some reason of his own, was intenselyeager to secure the Traquair homestead. Probably he could have boughtit for a fair amount, but that was not the broker's way. He had madehis money by lending on mortgages, and then foreclosing, thus securingproperty for a fraction of its value. This seemed to be his desire inthe present instance, and he was taking long chances to put his plansthrough.
Siwash Charley, after the broker was gone, was in great good humor. Hegave Matt a drink of water from a pail on the earthen shelf, and thenfilled and lighted his pipe and dropped down on a cot. For purposes ofventilation the door was left open, and Matt, his brain puzzled andbewildered, watched the sun sinking into the west.
The afternoon was drawing to a close. Somewhere, along the road toSykestown, McGlory, Cameron, and Ping were making their way in theborrowed motor car. During the night, if all went well, the partyshould reach Sykestown. Matt would not be there to meet them in themorning: but Murgatroyd would be there, and would scarcely be able toevade Cameron and McGlory.
What Matt's friends would do when they encountered the broker wasproblematical. Matt had abundant faith in Cameron's good judgment, andin his cowboy pard's courage and determination. Something of importancewould happen, the king of the motor boys was sure, and that somethingwould be of help to Mrs. Traquair.
"What's Murgatroyd up to, Siwash?" asked Matt.
"He knows, an' I know, but you don't," answered Siwash, "an' what'smore, ye ain't a-goin' to. So stop yer quizzin'."
"Why is he writing to Mrs. Traquair if she's a prisoner of his, out onthe Traquair homestead?"
Once more Siwash enjoyed himself.
"He's goin' ter send the letter out thar," replied Siwash. "Now stopaskin' questions. Ye'd better be congratulatin' yerself that we'rehandlin' ye so keerful. Arter what ye've done ter Murg an' me, knockin'ye on the head an' drappin' ye inter some slough wouldn't be none toogood. Howsumever, ye're wuth more ter us alive than ye air with yerboots on--which is mainly whar yer luck comes in. Hungry?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll git ye a snack."
Siwash went to the cupboard from which he had brought the writingmaterials and secured some dried beef and crackers. Removing a knifefrom his pocket, he began cutting the dried beef into small pieces.
There was something about the knife that reminded Matt of the rustydagger Ping had found in the woods, and recalling the dagger broughtCameron's story of Goff Fortescue abruptly to Matt's mind.
The prisoner eyed Siwash sharply. There was that about the ruffian thatsuggested the soldier--a certain precision of movement acquired in theranks. Matt began to whistle softly.
For a moment Siwash Charley paid no attention; then, as the air Mattwas whistling came to him, he lifted suddenly and glared.
"Stop yer whistlin'," he snapped.
"Do you know what that is, Siwash?" he asked.
"No!" almost shouted the scoundrel.
"They call it reveille up at the post. Here's 'stable call'----"
Siwash made one spring at Matt, the knife still gripped in his fist. Heflashed the blade in front of Matt's eyes.
"If I thought--if I thought----"
Siwash breathed the words hoarsely and stared menacingly at Matt. Therefollowed an awkward silence. Presently Siwash turned away and went oncarving the dried beef.
"I don't want ter hear 'stable call' nor nothin' else," he snarled."Don't like whistlin' nohow. Shut up, or I'll put a gag between yerjaws."
Matt deemed it best to keep silent after that. Nevertheless, it seemedto him as though he had touched a raw spot in Siwash Charley's pasthistory. Had Cameron got the matter right? Was Siwash Charley reallythe deserter, Cant Phillips?
When the food was ready, Matt asked Siwash to release his hands sothat he could help himself. But Siwash refused, and the prisoner wascompelled to take his food from the ruffian's hairy paws.
A change appeared to come over Siwash Charley. He was moody andreflective, and kept his pipe going continuously.
Leaning back against the earthen wall of the room, he surroundedhimself with a fog of vapor, which, because of the poor ventilation ofthe dugout, almost stifled Motor Matt.
The sun went down in a blaze of red, night fell, and Siwash closed thedoor and lighted the lamp. He neglected to curtain the window, however,which may have been an oversight on his part.
Matt fell to musing upon the a?roplane, and about the watch which hehad left on the a?roplane seat.
Would anything happen to the machine while he was a prisoner in thehands of Murgatroyd and Siwash? He roused up suddenly.
"Siwash," he asked, "what's going to be done with that flying machine?"
"I've had all I want out o' you," growled the ruffian, with savageemphasis. "If ye know when ye're well off, ye'll hush."
Matt "hushed." Frogs began to croak, and their husky voices camefaintly to the prisoner's ears. Somewhere inside the dugout a cricketchattered. A rat ran over Matt's feet and a lizard crawled slowly alongthe earthen shelf at his side.
"A pleasant hole, this," muttered Matt grimly; then, again and again,thoughts of those three letters recurred to his puzzled mind.
Siwash fell asleep in his chair, and his snores were added to the weirdsounds that drifted in from the prairie.
Matt's limbs, bruised and sore from the fall out of the a?roplane, feltnumb from the bonds. His whole body was aching, and his head throbbedas though a thousand demons were pounding it with hammers. But, inspite of his pain and discomfort, he fell to wondering if there was notsome way by which he could free himself from his bonds.
He had an invincible nature, and never gave up a fight so long as therewas breath in his body. Slowly he began an effort to free himself. Itwas a fruitless attempt, doubly bound as he was, and his desperatelabors caused the chair to overturn and land him sprawling on the clayfloor.
The noise awoke Siwash Charley.
"Tryin' ter git loose, hey?" he cried with an oath. "I ought ter makeye sit up all night fer that, an' I got a blame' good notion."
Roughly he jerked the chair upright and began removing the coils ofrope. When they were off, he examined the cords at Matt's wrists.
"Go over an' lay down on the cot," he ordered.
Matt's feet were free, and, had the door been open, he would have beentempted to make a dash through it and try to lose himself from hiscaptor in the darkness of the open prairie.
Passing over to the cot he dropped down on it, and Siwash tied himthere with more coils of rope, passing them around and around the sidepieces of the cot, under and over it.
The change of position was a rest, in a measure, although the tightwrist cords kept Matt's arms numb clear to his shoulders. It had been atrying day, and Matt presently dropped off to sleep. The hour was latewhen he closed his eyes. Although he had no means of telling the exacttime, yet he knew it could not be far from midnight.
A mellow chink as of metal awoke him. He opened his eyes and sawdaylight shining through the window.
Siwash was at the table, humped over it and counting a small store ofyellow gold. An old leather pouch lay on the table beside the coins.
Matt, cramped and in an agony of discomfort, was on the point of cryingout and asking to be untied from the cot and put back in the chair, buthe saw a head push across the window on the outside of the dugout, andthe call died suddenly on his lips.
It was the face of Hackberr
y!
Hope arose in Motor Matt's breast. Hackberry was a friend, in somemanner he had learned where Matt had been taken, and he had come to hisrescue!
Scarcely breathing, Matt watched the face of the man at the window.
Hackberry was not looking at Matt, but had centred his attention onSiwash. The latter, finishing his count of the gold pieces, swept themfrom the table and into the pouch; then, crossing to the wall by thecupboard, he knelt down, removed a flat stone, and pushed his yellowwealth into its cache. After placing the stone in position once more,Siwash Charley got up and stepped toward the door.
Before he could open it, the door was pushed ajar in his face.
"Pecos!" exclaimed Siwash, startled.
"Shore," laughed Pecos. "Ye didn't think it would take me more'n a dayand a night to git back from Totten, did ye? The hoss is plumb tired,an' I've jest picketed him close to water an' grass. And the schemeworked, hey?" he went on, with a grin at Matt. "I reckoned I'd put up apurty good bluff."
Here was a revelation for Matt, a revelation that broke over him in aflash and brought with it a grievous disappointment.
A clever trap had been laid by Murgatroyd, and, in spite of all hisprecautions in testing Hackberry's story, Matt had walked into it!
Motor Matt's Reverse; or, Caught in a Losing Cause Page 11
