MOTOR STORIES

Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C., by Street & Smith, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y.

Motor Matt's "Century" Run; OR, THE GOVERNOR'S COURIER.

By the author of "MOTOR MATT."

CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.

Matt King, concerning whom there has always been a mystery—a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of "Mile-a-minute Matt." Chub McReady, sometimes called plain "Reddy," for short, on account of his fiery "thatch"—a chum of Matt, with a streak of genius for inventing things that often land the bold experimenter in trouble. Welcome Perkins, a one-legged wanderer who lives with Chub and his sister while their father prospects for gold—Welcome is really a man of peace, yet he delights to imagine himself a "terror," and is forever boasting about being a "reformed road-agent." McKibben, the sheriff who has both nerve and intelligence. Juan Morisco, a Mexican of low degree, and a rascal as well. Tom Clipperton, known generally as "Clip," a quarter-blood, who is very sensitive about his Indian ancestry. The Governor, head of the State, and a friend of Matt. Gregory, a rancher. Dangerfield, the leader of the smugglers; who has another name. Burke, another sheriff, who lands his man.

"Rags," a little girl waif whom Matt befriends, to his profit later.

CHAPTER I.

WELCOME TAKES A SUDDEN DROP.

"Ready, Perk?"

"Hold up there, Chub! Don't ye git in sich a tarnal hurry. What am I goin' to do with this here rope?"

"Why, cast it off, of course. How can you expect to fly with the rope holdin' you back?"

"Waal, now, wait; le's understand this thing. It's my idee, ain't it?"

"Sure. You drew the plans an' I put the machine together."

"If any picters is published in the papers, mine goes in bigger'n yours, don't it?"

"That's all to the good, Perk. When the reporters write this up, you'll be the king-pin. The invention is yours, and all I did was to put it together. But you're a pretty old man to try it out, Perk. You'd better let me take the first spin."

"Bein' the inventor, I reckon I got a right to show off a little. Purty nigh all my life I been a hootin', tootin' disturber o' the peace, committin' depperdations as makes me blush to think of; but right here is where I do somethin' fer civilization an' progress, which'll go a good ways to'rds makin' up fer the past. I'm plumb hungry, Chub, to hear folks say: 'That there flyin' machine is the biggest thing o' the twentieth century, an' Welcome Perkins done it. He used to be a howlin', cut-an'-slash desperado in his younger days, but now he's turned over a new leaf, an' is devotin' his shinin' abilities to forwardin' the cause o' progress as much as he used to be fer holdin' it back.' That's what I wants to hear folks say as they're p'intin' me out, an'——"

"Oh, slush! If you stand up there chinning much longer, Perk, somebody'll come. You want this to be a private flight, don't you?"

"Jest at the beginnin', till I see if everythin' works all right. If there ain't any hitch. I want to make it as public as possible. I'd be tickled to have the hull town come out an' see me cuttin' figger eight's in the clouds. 'It can't be that one-legged feller up there is Welcome[Pg 2] Perkins, the ole ex-pirate o' the plains as has been living right here among us, can it?' the people will say, awed-like, turnin' to each other. Then I'll fly low, so'st to let 'em make sure, an' laugh exultin'-like——"

"Back to the woods for you, Perk; go ahead an' fly. Don't stand there talkin' about it."

"Sure Susie ain't got back yit, an' nobody else ain't lookin'?"

"Don't fret about that, Perk. We're all alone out here, but there's no tellin' how long we'll be by ourselves if you lose much more time."

There was a very peculiar situation in the McReady back yard. A stout pole, some thirty feet high, stood firmly planted in the ground. Half way up the pole a platform had been constructed, and on this platform stood an old, one-legged gentleman surrounded by a lot of canvas wings. There was a canvas tail behind to be depressed or lifted, according as the old gentleman wanted to fly up or down; and there was a propeller just in front of the tail, which was to be worked by foot-power and keep the machine going. The aeroplane had been hoisted to its elevated position by means of a stout rope passing through a pulley at the top of the pole.

The one-legged man was Welcome Perkins, and the red-headed boy on the ground was Chub McReady—who was something of an inventor himself, although this flying machine had been designed wholly by Welcome.

Slowly Welcome untied the rope from the flying machine, and Chub pulled it through the pulley and then coiled it up on the ground at the foot of the pole. Thereupon Welcome pushed into the manhole of the flying machine and began hoisting himself up and down, preparatory to springing off. He stopped suddenly, however, and pulled out of the machine to look down at Chub.

"I reckon, Chub," he observed, as by an afterthought, "I'll fly around the dome o' the capitol half a dozen times an' then light on the weather-vane so'st the governor kin have a chanst to look out o' the cupola winder an' thank me fer this boon to the human race. Mebby I'll perch on top o' the court-house, too, fer a spell, an' take a leetle fly out by the Injun school. If I don't git back airly, don't be in a takin' about me, er——"

"Oh, shucks!" roared Chub. "If you're afraid to start, Perk, come down an' let me try it."

"Afraid!" snorted Welcome. "You know blame' well I ain't afraid o' nothin' on the airth 'r over it. I wisht you'd stuck the 'Merican flag on the machine, some'rs, but I won't stop fer that now. So-long, Chub, I'm goin' to take wing. Git out yer spy-glass if ye want ter watch me."

While Chub held his breath, old Welcome made a few more up and down movements and then leaped from the platform.

But something must have been wrong. It couldn't have been the machine, of course, for Chub had O. K.'d the plans, so it must have been in the way Welcome manipulated the tail or the wings.

Twenty feet from the foot of the pole flowed the town canal. By actual measurement, Welcome flew twenty-five feet; then the canvas fabric turned itself inside out, and, with a wild yell, the old man dropped into the water. There was a tremendous splash, and a small-sized geyser shot upward.

Loud shouts came from around the corner of the house, and Matt King and Tom Clipperton rushed into sight and darted for the canal to give Welcome a helping hand. Matt grabbed up the rope at the foot of the pole as he ran past.

"Great Scott!" cried Chub, joining in the race for the canal, "where'd you fellers come from?"

"Rode up on our motor-cycles," replied Matt, "and hung around the corner to see the show. Foolish business, Chub. Welcome might have broken his neck—or that other leg."

"It was his own notion, that machine. I was sure it would fly, but I headed him for the canal, so if anything went wrong he'd have a soft place to drop."

By that time the boys were at the canal, and Matt threw the rope. Welcome, sputtering and floundering, was tangled in the wreckage. He had sense enough left to catch the rope, and Matt dragged him out of the torn canvas, and all three of the boys lifted him up on the bank.

"That's the last time," fumed Welcome, dancing around and holding his head on one side to get the water out of his ear, "the very last time, Chub McReady, I'm goin' to try any more o' your fool contraptions. I might a' been kilt! 'Tain't your fault I wasn't."

"It wasn't my contraption, Perk," answered Chub, smothering a laugh, now that he was certain Welcome hadn't suffered any particular damage. "It was yours."

"Dad-bing!" yelled Welcome, more worked up over the fun the boys were getting out of the situation than he was over the accident itself. "Ye goaded me on, ye know ye did! I ain't a-goin' to stand no more. Lawlessness is b'ilin' around inside o' me, an' I'm goin' to git right out! Instid o' helpin' progress, like I was intendin', I'm goin' to cut loose, out there in the hills, an' give it a back-set. You hear me? Wow! Laff! laff all ye want! When they git out the U. S. Army to chase me, an' run me down, I reckon ye'll laugh on t'other side yer face. An' it was you done it, Chub McReady! That's somethin' fer you to think about!"

The old man whirled and galloped for the house, growling to himself, jabbing his wooden pin viciously into the ground with every step, and leaving a watery trail as he went. Chub keeled over on the ground, kicked his feet in the air, and roared.

"It's a cinch," he guffawed, "that that's the last flyin' machine Perk'll try to invent. We thought we was havin' this experiment entirely private, an' I guess Perk thought I'd given you fellers the tip, so you could be hangin' around. That didn't help his temper any."

"We got here just before Welcome jumped off," said Matt. "I couldn't figure out what he was trying to do, at first, or I'd have rushed out and tried to stop him."

"You couldn't have stopped him!" snickered Chub. "The old boy had the bit in his teeth."

"Ducking was all right," grinned Clip. "May have been a good thing. Cooled his spirit, anyhow."

"Punk! His pesky spirit will break out somewhere else, you see. Perk is a human volcano, an' he's got to have an eruption just about so often or he can't be happy. But why are you fellers showin' up here so early in the morning?"

"Clip and I are going to Denver on our motor-cycles," answered Matt. "We just came around to say good-by."

Chub's face fell.

[Pg 3]

"On the level?" he asked. "Hang it all, Matt it can't be you're goin' to-day?"

"We are, if nothing bobs up to keep us back. I've been trying to start for two or three weeks, but at the last moment I generally run into something that interferes with my plans. Clip has bought Penny's motor-cycle, we've laid out our route, and we want to get away early this afternoon."

"Say," exploded Chub, "if I had a motor-cycle I'm hanged if I wouldn't go with you."

"I've got a picture of you leaving Phœnix now," returned Matt, "while your father is getting to work developing his mine. You'll have to help him, Chub. Where's Susie? I want to say good-by to her before I——"

Matt broke off his words. Fate had already interfered two or three times with his start for Denver, and just then Fate was getting ready to repeat the old performance.

A far-away rattle, growing steadily in volume, broke on the ears of the boys. Whirling around, they stared across the canal and toward the road on the other side of the bridge.

What they saw sent the blood racing through their veins.

Four scrubby cayuses, hitched to a wood-hauler's wagon, were running away. The wagon was nothing more than two pairs of wheels connected by a "reach." As the vehicle leaped and swayed from one side of the road to the other, the startled eyes of the boys made out a small figure clinging to the "reach" for dear life.

"There's a girl on that wagon!" cried Chub breathlessly.

The girl could not have been more than five or six years old, and her dangerous situation appealed to Matt and aroused a swift determination to save her if it could possibly be done.

Without a word, he picked up the rope with which he had dragged Welcome out of the canal and darted for the gate in front of the house. As he ran, his fingers were busy knotting a noose in the rope's end.

CHAPTER II.

A QUEER SITUATION.

Motor Matt was never long about making up his mind as to what he was going to do. In the present instance an expedient flashed through his brain which might, or might not, succeed.

The rope which had been used to hoist the aeroplane to the staging on the pole was a long one. As Matt ran through the gate, he flung the noose which he had tied in the rope over a hitching-post, and then leaped across the road.

By that time the four horses had crossed the bridge and were thundering on toward the front of the house. Matt, holding the rope firmly, stretched it so as to bring it across directly in front of the leaders.

Clipperton, instantly divining Matt's plan, started toward him, with the intention of helping him hang onto the end of the rope. But Matt had other plans for him and Chub.

"Keep back, Clip!" he yelled. "When I make 'em slow down, you and Chub grab the bits."

Just then the front wheels of the wagon separated from those in the rear. The "reach" went on with the forward axle, and the back wheels spun around, dashed across the road, and smashed into the fence. The end of the "reach" had struck the ground with terrific force, and the girl was dragged along with it.

Why didn't she let go? was the thought that plunged through Matt's mind. The next moment he had no time to think or to do anything else but give his attention to the work in hand.

There was a shock like an earthquake as the front horses of the team hit the rope. Matt, clinging like grim death to the stout hemp, was jerked into the air and hurled forward and inward. The pace of the leaders was checked, and the wheel-horses tried to play leap-frog with them, the result being that the whole team became entangled in the harness.

Clip and Chub, throwing themselves at the heads of the leaders, grabbed the bits. Before the rope was pulled from Matt's hands, the horses were at a standstill.

As soon as Clip and Chub had the team in hand, Matt ran to the girl. She was lying on the ground close to the end of the "reach" and an exclamation escaped Matt's lips when he saw that she was tied to the piece of timber that had connected the front wheels with those behind.

"Is she hurt?" called Clip.

"She must be," answered Matt. "I don't see how she could go through what she has without being hurt—and badly hurt at that. She's unconscious. Some one tied her to the wagon."

He went down on his knees, and, with his pocket-knife, severed the rope that secured the girl to the "reach."

He was about to pick her up in his arms when a panting voice called out to him:

"Leaf her alone! I will be taking care of her."

Matt straightened on his knees and looked at the speaker. The man was a Mexican, and had a surly, ill-omened face. He was covered with dust, and had evidently been racing after the team on foot. Behind him another Mexican was coming.

The little girl was American—Matt could tell that by her looks. That being the case, why was she with the two Mexicans? And why had she been tied to the wagon?

"Does the team belong to you?" demanded Matt.

"Yas, he b'long to me. I left him by de store, an' he git scare' an' make a run off. Carramba! He bust my wagon all up. I take care of de girl, señor. She hurt, huh?"

The other Mexican, scarcely giving a look at the girl, passed on to the horses and began to pound them with a stick that he was carrying. His attack was so brutal that Clip grabbed the stick out of his hand, and would have laid it over his back if Chub had not interfered.

"Cut it out, Clip," said Chub. "The greaser don't know any better. About half o' these wood-haulers ain't any more'n half-baked."

"He'll have the team running again," scowled Clipperton. "He ought to have some sense pounded into him."

Meanwhile, Matt, paying no heed to the other Mexican, had picked up the little girl and was carrying her[Pg 4] toward the gate. The Mexican ran after him and grabbed his arm.

"You gif her to me!" he shouted.

"This is the most ungrateful outfit of greasers I ever met up with," cried Clip, hurrying toward the second man. "That'll do for you!" he said angrily, catching the fellow by the collar and throwing him back.

The Mexican whirled, his little eyes glittering like a snake's. One hand darted toward the breast of his coat.

"Look out Clip!" warned Chub. "He's going to pull a knife on you."

Clip still had the club he had taken from the Mexican's companion, and he squared away threateningly. There was a scar in the shape of a cross on the man's swarthy cheek, and it glowed redly with the anger that filled him.

Before the clash could proceed any farther, a man came galloping up on horseback. The boys recognized him at once as Mr. McKibben, the sheriff. The Mexicans also seemed to recognize him, for the one by the horses slunk in between the animals' heads, and the other at once lost his truculent manner.

"What's going on here?" demanded McKibben, peering sharply at the Mexican, and then swerving his gaze to Matt and the unconscious form in his arms.

"The team ran away, Mr. McKibben," explained Matt, "and this girl was tied to the 'reach.' It looks as though she was badly hurt. I want to carry her into the house and this fellow was trying to take her away from me."

"H'm!" muttered the sheriff, getting down from his horse, "it's a cinch the girl don't belong to them." He stepped closer to the Mexican, his eyes on the scar. "Where'd you get the girl?" he demanded, one hand groping in his pocket.

"The niño?" returned the Mexican shiftily. "She b'long to a friend of mine, señor. I take her to him. I no like to leave her here."

The sheriff's hand came out of his pocket with a rush, bringing a pair of handcuffs along with it. In less time than it takes to tell it, one of the cuffs was about the Mexican's right wrist, while the other was snapped about McKibben's left.

The Mexican gave a backward jump, but the sheriff, with a pull of the arm, drew him back with a jerk that almost lifted him off his feet. Once more the Mexican's hand was plunged into the breast of his coat. It was the left hand this time, however, and he was awkward in using it. McKibben's fingers gripped the wrist of the hand as it was withdrawn and shook a knife out of it.

"None of that, Juan Morisco!" growled McKibben. "You see, I know you. I've had you watched ever since you reached town, so you'll just walk along with me and not make any trouble about it."

There was a rattle of hoofs up the road.

"The other one's making a getaway, Mr. McKibben," sang out Chub excitedly. "He took one of the horses and—— Holy smoke, watch him go!"

The sheriff turned and flashed a look after the retreating horseman.

"I can follow him," said Clip. "I'll use your horse."

"Let him go," answered McKibben. "He's only the wood-hauler. This is the man I want. Take the girl into the house, King," he added. "You might ride my horse to the corral, Clipperton, and get a doctor."

"Do you know anything about this girl?" asked Matt, looking down at the head that was lying limply over his arm.

"Not a thing; but I'll bet money there's crooked work of some kind going on. The girl didn't belong with these Mexicans."

"If they hadn't tied her to the wagon," said Matt, "she would have got clear of that accident without being so badly hurt."

"We'll get Juan in the sweat-box and find out about it."

"What have you pinched the greaser for, Mr. McKibben?" asked Chub.

"Don't get so curious, McReady," parried the sheriff. "Hitch those three horses to the fence, and I'll send some one after them and the wreck of the wagon. Do what you can for the girl, King."

Clip got on the sheriff's animal and started for the bridge; Chub went to the horses which, by that time, had quieted down, and started toward the fence with them; McKibben took his prisoner toward town; and Matt pushed on through the gate and into the house.

This was a mysterious affair from start to finish, and he was wondering what would come of it.

CHAPTER III.

"RAGS."

Susie McReady, who had been visiting with a friend over in town, came home a little while after Matt had laid the girl down on a couch. Chub entered the house with his sister, and was excitedly telling her what had happened.

Susie went at once to the girl and began doing what she could for her.

"It's too bad," murmured Susie sympathetically, as she passed a wet cloth back and forth over the girl's face. "Poor little thing! She hardly seems to have any breath left in her."