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 Mystery;

OR,

FOILING A SECRET PLOT.

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." Carl Pretzel, a cheerful and rollicking German lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with Motor Matt in double harness. James Q. Tomlinson, the jeweler from Denver, who seems to have troubles of his own, and about whose identity there is more or less confusion. Trymore, Hank, Spangler, } a trio of sporting gentlemen who believe in hunting big game, and who consider themselves experts in the line of choice gems. Pringle, once honest Carl's pardner in vaudeville, but latterly engaged in a far less honorable business. Gregory, a chauffeur. Hop Loo, Charley Sing, } the two eccentric laundrymen of Ash Fork.

CHAPTER I.

A DUTCHMAN IN TROUBLE.

Whiz, bang!

"Dutchee boy no good! Have gotee mon, no makee pay. Whoosh! Allee same cheap skate!"

Whiz, bang, clatter, bang!

"Vat's der madder mit you, hey? You vas grazier as I can't tell! Py shiminy grickets, oof you hit me mit a flad-iron I vill mad be as some hornets. Shtop a leedle, und I vill——"

There followed a wild yell, a pandemonium as though Bedlam had been turned loose, and then a heavy fall and sudden quiet.

Motor Matt, just turning into the yard of a small adobe house, heard the tremendous uproar and came to a startled halt.

Hop Loo, a Chinese laundryman, lived in the house, and Matt was just coming after his week's wash.

Under a cotton-wood tree in the yard, some fifteen feet from the house, was a wash-tub mounted on a couple of chairs. Between the tree and a corner of the house, and running thence to a post set at right angles with the adobe wall, was a line strung with clothes.

Charley Sing, who worked for Hop Loo, was at the tub, up to his elbows in hot suds.

The racket in the house had claimed Charley's attention just as it had caught Matt's. Pulling his hands out of the wash-water, Charley dried them on his kimono, jerked the wash-board out of the tub, and, holding it by one leg for use as a weapon, stole toward the open door of the adobe.

Matt had been so situated that he could look into the house and catch a restricted view of what was going on. The thumping had been caused by flat-irons striking against the inner walls, each one being nimbly dodged by a fat youth of decidedly odd appearance. Hop Loo, who was ironing, had shrilly piped his denunciation of the fat boy; the latter had replied; and Hop Loo, failing to make a bull's-eye with the flat-iron, had sprung at the boy. The latter, with an astonishingly quick move, considering his size, had grabbed a rack of ironed clothes and hurled it in Hop Loo's way. Thereupon Hop Loo had turned a somersault over the clothes, and was now standing on his head very quietly in a wood-box.

[Pg 2]

"Meppy you t'ink I vas a Vandefeller, or Rockybilt," cried the fat boy, breaking the silence, "but you bet my life you got anodder guess coming. You make me some drouples, by shinks, und I don'd like dot. Goot-py, Hob Loo! Sorry dot I can't vait undil you ged right-site-oop, aber I haf pitzness in some odder blaces, und vill broceed to fly my kite!"

The fat boy turned and wabbled through the door. Matt, now that he had a good look at him, began to laugh.

"Dutchman" was written all over the boy's face. He had a mop of carroty hair, and on top of it was a little plaid cap that looked as though it was lost in the wilderness. His ample dimensions were covered with a suit whose pattern consisted of a very "loud" plaid, and under the open coat could be seen a crimson vest that made even more noise than the rest of his apparel.

As this ponderous vision ambled through the door, it was met by Charley Sing and the wash-board.

"Ged oudt oof my vay!" yelled the fat Dutch boy. "Oof you don'd, py shiminy, somet'ing is going to take blace vat is nod on der pills."

Charley, grimly determined, whirled the wash-board and let drive with it. The strength he put into the blow caused the board to leave his hands. The Dutchman dropped, the wash-board flew over his head and hit Hop Loo, who had up-ended himself and was just returning to the attack, in the pit of the stomach.

"Wow!" gurgled Hop Loo, catching his middle with both hands and doing a wild dance in his straw sandals.

Charley Sing was now thoroughly aroused. Jabbering in frantic "pidgin," he proceeded to make front on the Dutchman.

The latter, continuing to display his surprising agility, ducked sideways between Hop Loo and Charley Sing, and rushed in the direction of the cottonwood. Charley followed him with such speed that his pigtail stood straight out behind him, and the sandals flew right and left from his rapidly moving feet.

The German boy circled around the wash-tub. Charley would have circled, too, only his toes caught in a wringer that was lying on the ground, and he pitched heavily against the chairs that held the tub.

A catastrophe followed.

The tub went down, and Charlie turned a handspring in the hot suds and came up covered with foam and wet clothes.

"Whoosh!" he spluttered; "killee Dutchee boy! Allee same debble! Makee go topside!"

Falling over against the tree, he began clearing the soap-suds out of his eyes and throat. He looked like an animated drying-post, and the Dutch boy, in spite of his troubles, began to haw-haw wildly.

By that time, however, Hop Loo had recovered his wind, grabbed up a stick of stove-wood, and was bearing down on the fat Teuton with blood in his eye.

The youth saw him coming, whirled, and ran into the clothes-line. His weight ripped the line from the tree and the house-corner, and when he went on he carried it with him, the dried clothes flapping like so many distress-signals.

Perhaps the boy traveled a dozen yards. At the end of that distance, he got tangled in the rope, went down and rolled over and over, completely wrapping himself up in a choice assortment of laundry.

It is hard to tell what Hop Loo would have done when he came up with that fluttering heap that was twisting and writhing on the ground. He had the stick of wood in his hand and much bitterness in his heart, but if he struck too hard he would make a bad matter worse by damaging some of the linen. Besides, when Hop Loo got ready to take revenge, Matt was standing between him and the helpless Dutchman.

"Easy there, Hop Loo!" cried Matt.

"You no stopee China boy!" howled Hop Loo, dancing all around Matt and trying to get at the bundle. "Dutchee boy spoilee heap washee, makee plenty tlouble. Me sendee topside, you bettee!"

Grabbing Hop Loo's waving arm, Matt deftly relieved the yellow fist of the billet of wood.

"Hold up, Hop Loo," said he soothingly; "let's get down to cases on this thing and find out what's wrong."

"By jim' Klismus," shrilled Hop Loo, "he tly beatee China boy! No makee pay fo' launly! Kickee up plenty lumpus. No likee!"

"Vell, der olt rat-eader! I vas drying to tell him some t'ings und he vouldn't lis'en. He made me more drouples as you can guess, und pegan drowing me at all der flad-irons in der blace."

Matt looked around. The Dutch boy had managed to scramble to his feet and paw his head free of the clothes. A red undershirt was draped gracefully over his right shoulder, and he was completely swathed in other garments and clothes-pins.

Matt grinned. The sight was too much for him.

"Meppy id's funny," said the Dutch boy, with a wink, "aber der Chink ain't enchoying himseluf so as any vone can nodice."

"Who are you?" asked Matt.

"Carl is der lapel vat I tote, Carl Pretzel."

"Do you owe the Chinaman money?"

"Vell, I vas pusted, und I vanted him to vait undil I get some chobs, und he got mad und pegun drowing t'ings. He vould haf drowed der kitchen stof ad me, only it vas hotter as he could hantle. My, my, vat a grazy Chink id iss."

"How much does he owe you, Hop?" inquired Matt.

"Fittyfi' cent fo' launly," answered the Chinaman, "two dol' fo' spoilee clothes," and he waved a discouraged hand at the garments on the ground and at the overturned wash-tub. "Two fittyfi', you savvy? Him one piecee bad Dutchee boy."

"How much is my laundry?" asked Matt.

"Fortyfi'."

"That makes three dollars," said Matt, pulling some money from his pocket. "Take it, Hop, and call the account square. Now run in and get Carl's laundry and mine while I'm getting him out of his tangle."

The three silver dollars soothed the Chinaman's injured feelings, and he turned and vanished into the house.

"Say," cried Carl, "you vas a pooty goot feller! Vat's your name, hey?"

"Matt King."

"You lif in Ash Fork?"

"No; I'm just here waiting for a man I'm anxious to see."

"Vell, dot's my fix. I'm likevise vaitin' for a man dot I vant do see mit a club. He's aboudt my size, only not kevite so goot looging as me, und pigger oop an' down as I am der odder vay. His name iss Pringle. He vas a pad egg, I tell you dot. Can you tell me vere dot feller iss?"

Matt shook his head.

"Never heard of him, Carl," he answered.

[Pg 3]

"Chonny Hartluck has been hitting me like anyt'ing," sighed Carl, as Matt stripped away the last of the clothes-line, "und you peen der fairest friendt I haf hat since I don'd know. Shake vonce."

Carl put out his hand, and Matt grasped it cordially.

"How you t'ink I efer pay you pack dot money, Matt?" asked Carl.

"I'm not thinking much about it, one way or the other," said Matt. "No great loss, Carl, if you never pay it back."

"You vas a fine feller, und ve vill go some place und I vill tell you somet'ing."

Just then Hop Loo showed himself with two bundles of laundry. Matt took one, and Carl the other, and they left at once for the main part of the town.

There was joy in the faces of Hop Loo and Charley Sing as the Dutch boy departed, and they immediately began bringing order out of their demoralized "plant."

When they were out of the yard, and bound along the road, Carl Pretzel threw back his head and began to laugh.

"You seem to get a good deal of fun out of your troubles, Carl," remarked Matt, who had developed a deep interest in his odd companion.

"Dot's me!" guffawed Carl. "Id iss easy to be jeerful ven luck is comin' your vay, aber you bed you it takes a pooty goot feller to be jeerful ven it ain't. So dot's vy I laff mit meinseluf. I peen more jeerful now, schust pecause I vas blayin' in der vorst luck vat efer habbened, und I bed you someding for nodding it ain't eferypody vat could do dot. Now, oof I——"

Carl never finished his remark. The boys had been walking in the center of the road, and Matt suddenly heard a sound behind them and almost on their heels.

"Look out!" he yelled, grabbing Carl by the arm and giving him a jerk toward the roadside.

CHAPTER II.

THE RUNAWAY AUTO.

"Vat's der madder?" gasped Carl, as he came to a staggering halt.

"Look!" cried Matt, pointing.

An automobile—a big, red touring-car—rolled past the boys. If they had not jumped just when they did it would have run them down. It had come without warning, other than the muffled noise caused by its machinery, and Matt had been so taken up with the talk of his new acquaintance that he had not heard the car's approach until the last moment.

"Vy didn't he honk?" sputtered Carl.

"He?" flung back Matt, staring, and hardly able to believe his eyes. "Why, there wasn't any one to honk!"

This amazing statement was literally true. As the car passed them, the boys could see that there was no one in either of the front seats, or in the tonneau. The car had no passengers, and was running itself!

"Vell, py chimineddy!" murmured Carl, aghast.

The car was not going at a high rate of speed—perhaps fifteen miles an hour—but, even at that gait, it was rapidly leaving a wide gap between it and the boys.

Matt was nonplused, but he side-tracked his bewilderment in a hurry and tried to think of some means for overtaking the runaway auto and bringing it to a halt. This must be done before the car reached town, or there would surely be an accident.

Matt flashed his eyes about him. Houses were few and far between in that part of the settlement, but, as luck would have it, a horse was standing in front of a dwelling on the right of the road.

Without losing a moment, Matt rushed to the horse, jerked the bridle-reins over the top of a post, clambered into the saddle and dug out after the red car.

Carl was yelling and talking excitedly, but Matt had no attention to pay to him, and the Dutch boy's words soon died out in the distance.

For several miles that road into Ash Fork was perfectly straight. The runaway car, however, was heading for a bend where trees and telephone-poles would surely wreck it unless it was halted or turned.

As Matt, with the horse on the keen jump, came closer to the car, he saw that the steering-wheel had been lashed by a rope. Attached to one of the top-irons on the right side of the front seat, the lashing engaged the spokes of the steering-wheel and crossed to the top-iron on the left. This fastening held the wheel rigid, and kept the car on a straight course.

How to drop from the saddle of the running horse and into the car was a point that Matt turned over in his mind as he raced. He had not many seconds in which to mark out a line of action—and he did not need many.

Pushing the horse to top speed, Matt passed the car; then, with a quick jerk on the reins, he brought the horse to a slower pace, tumbled out of the saddle, caught his footing in the road and flung himself at the running-board as the car came abreast of him.

He was jolted considerably, although no particular damage was done, and got into the tonneau with a wild scramble. By then the car was dangerously close to the bend, and Matt threw himself across the back of the front seat and into the driver's position. With lightning quickness he cut off the power and threw on the emergency brake. The machine halted, but with a telephone-pole almost between the front wheels!

With a deep breath of relief, Matt stood up to see what Carl was doing. The fat Dutchman was trying to head off and stop the horse. The animal, as soon as Matt had dropped from the saddle, had whirled back along the road. Not a little frightened, the horse seemed now about to turn in Matt's direction in order to escape Carl.

Hastily cutting away the wheel-lashing with his knife, Matt sprang from the car and ran back, so he and Carl could keep the horse between them. This move was successful, and the Dutch boy, by an exercise of marvelous agility for one of his build, managed to grab the horse by the bits.

"Vat shall I do mit him, Matt?" cried Carl.

"Take him back to the place where I got him, Carl," called Matt, "then bring that laundry of ours and come to the car. There's a mystery here that we've got to look into."

Matt's wild ride on horseback, and his capture of the car, had not brought a single person out of the squat little adobe houses sprinkled along the road. For the most part, the houses were inhabited by Chinamen, and they had little curiosity for the Melican man's devil-wagon; not enough, at least, to let the stopping of the car draw them from their own affairs.

Matt looked the machine over with an admiring eye. It[Pg 4] was a fine late model, with six cylinders under the long hood. From the amount of dust with which the machine was covered it seemed to have come a long distance. The tires, however, were in excellent condition, the gasoline-tank was half full, and there was still a good supply of oil.

Familiar as Matt was with motor vehicles, he knew the car must have cost five or six thousand dollars. Why was such a valuable machine loose in the road? Who was the owner? And where was the owner?

Getting into the tonneau, Matt searched for something that would offer a clue to the mystery. He could find nothing. He was just straightening up after his unsuccessful examination when Carl came along.

"Py chiminy," puffed Carl, "I nefer heardt oof anyt'ing like dot! Matt, you vas a great feller. Dot's righdt. Oof you hatn't done vat you dit, I bed you somet'ing der modor-car vould haf peen a lot oof junk. Yah, so. Vere you learn how to run audomopiles, hey?"

"Used to work in a motor factory," answered Matt. "What do you think of this lay out, Carl?" he asked. "Here's a fine big touring-car running itself along the road, no clue to the owner, and the steering-wheel lashed to keep it on a straight line!"

Apparently the question was too difficult for Carl. Thoughtfully he tossed the two bundles of laundry into the tonneau, walked around in front and opened the bonnet. The beautiful mechanism disclosed brought an admiring cry from the Dutch boy's lips.

"Py shinks," he murmured, "you don'd find cylinters like dot in cheap cars, Matt!"

"What do you know about cylinders?" demanded Matt, opening his eyes at this new side of the Teuton's character.

"Vell," and Carl ran his fingers through the mop of hair, "meppy I don'd know how to dake a car apart und put him togedder again, aber I t'ink yah. I vorked vonce in some factories meinseluf—pefore I got foolish und vent on der stage mit Pringle. You bed you I know der carpuretter from der spark-plug, but I don'd got der nerf to make a drifer."

Carl had been through experiences about which Matt was anxious to learn, but, for the present, the mystery of the red car claimed his entire attention.

"Why should any one want to cut a car like this adrift?" queried Matt.

"Dat's more as I know," answered Carl, closing the bonnet, "aber led's be jeerful, Matt. Oof fife t'ousant tollars comes rolling indo our hants, all py itseluf, for vy shouldn't ve be jeerful?"

"This car don't belong to us, Carl, just because we happened to stop it."

"Vell, oof you hatn't shtopped it it vouldn't haf peen vort' nodding! Und der feller vat hat it didn't vant it, or he vouldn't haf let it go. So helup me, I t'ink it pelongs py us. I vant to go py Tenver. Vere do you vant to go?"

"I came from Phœnix to Ash Fork, two weeks ago, with a letter of recommendation to a wealthy cattleman who has just bought a big automobile and wants a driver. I had my eye on the job, Carl, but the cattleman hasn't shown up. He lives here, though, and I'm waiting for him. If it wasn't for that, I'd just as soon pull out for Denver, myself."

"I don'd got some money," said Carl, "und along comes der audomopile und say, 'Chump in, boys, und led me dake you py Tenver!' Und I, in der jeerful vay vat I haf, make some remarks aboudt 'Vy nod?'"

Matt went around to the front and began cranking.

"Well, jump in," said he, coming back and getting into the driver's seat; "we're going to start."

"For Tenver?" cried Carl.

"Hardly," laughed Matt, backing away and turning the car in the road; "we're off along the back trail to look for the touring-car's owner."

"Vell, meppy he don'd vant it?"

"Then, if we find him, we'll give him a chance to say so."

"How you t'ink ve vas goin' to find him?"

"This car hasn't been abandoned very long, nor very many miles back on the road. You see, the road is straight for only a few miles, and the car, with the wheel lashed as it was, could only travel along the straight track. If it had been abandoned before it was put on the straight track, it would have been in the ditch."

"You know more in a minit as I in a year know, Matt," said Carl, heaving a long breath, "und dot's all aboudt it. Ve vill look for der owner, und I vill shdill be jeerful efen oof he dakes der car und makes me valk by Tenver, yah, so. It vas some pig mysderies, anyvay; py chimineddy, it vas der piggest vale oof a mysdery vat efer come my vay."

Motor Matt agreed with Carl. Somewhere along the straight stretch of road ahead of them he felt sure the key to the mystery would be found.

And what would it reveal?

CHAPTER III.

THE MAN AT THE ROADSIDE.