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 RACE

OR,

THE LAST FLIGHT OF THE COMET.

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." Tom Clipperton, known generally as "Clip," a quarter-blood, who is very sensitive about his Indian ancestry. McKibben, the sheriff who has both nerve and intelligence. Fresnay, a cowboy who performs some mighty queer stunts. Pima Pete, an Indian to whom Clip is related. Hogan, Leffingwell, } two deputy sheriffs. Short, a lawyer. Burke, sheriff of an adjoining county. Jack Moody, an engineer friend of Chub.

CHAPTER I.

TROUBLE ON THE ROAD.

"Ye're afeared! Yah, that's what ye are! Motor Matt's scared, an' I never thought ye was afeared o' nothin'. Go ahead! I dare ye!"

An automobile—a high-powered roadster—was nosing along through the hills a dozen miles out of the city of Phœnix. The vehicle had the usual two seats in front and a rumble-seat behind—places for three, but there were four piled aboard.

Matt King was in the driver's seat, of course, and equally, of course, he had to have the whole seat to himself. On his left were Chub McReady and Tom Clipperton, sitting sideways and wedged into their places like sardines in a can. In the rumble behind was the gentleman with the wooden leg—Welcome Perkins, the "reformed road-agent."

Matt was giving his friends a ride. The red roadster, in which they were taking the spin, was an unclaimed car at present in the custody of McKibben, the sheriff. It had been used for lawless work by its original owners, and had fallen into the hands of the sheriff, who was holding it in the hope that the criminals would come forward and claim it.[A]

[A] See Motor Matt Weekly, No. 3, "Motor Matt's 'Century' Run; or, The Governor's Courier."

McKibben and Motor Matt were the best of friends, and McKibben had told Matt to take the red roadster out for "exercise" whenever he felt like it. Directly after dinner, that day, they had started from the McReady home in Phœnix. It was now about half-past one, and they were jogging at a leisurely pace through the foot-hills.

Welcome, on account of his wooden leg and the necessity of having plenty of room, had been given the rumble-seat. He was standing up most of the time, however, leaning over the back of the seat in front of him, and telling Motor Matt how to drive the car.

That was the third time the old man had ever been in an automobile, but to hear him talk you'd have thought[Pg 2] there wasn't anything about the machine that was new to him. His constant clamor was for more speed, and Matt had no intention of taking chances with a borrowed car when a leisurely pace was entirely satisfactory to himself and his two chums, Clip and Chub.

"Oh, slush!" grunted Chub, as Welcome leaned forward and dared Motor Matt to "hit er up." "You'd be scared to death, Welcome, if Matt put on full speed and hit only a high place here and there. Sit down an' shut up, or we'll drop you into the road. I wouldn't mind having that seat of yours myself; eh, Clip?"

"Free kentry, ain't it?" snapped Welcome. "You ain't got no call ter sot down on me, Chub McReady, if I want to talk. Go on," he added to Matt; "pull the plug out o' the carburetter an' hit the magneto a lick jest fer luck."

This was a sample of Welcome's knowledge. Chub let off a delighted yell.

"Yes," he laughed, "an' while you're about it, Matt, strip the planetary transmission an' short-circuit the spark-plug. Give Welcome all he wants! Make him sit down, hang on with both hands and bite hard on his store-teeth."

"When you're running a car that don't belong to you, fellows," said Matt, "it's best to be on the safe side."

"Sure," agreed Clip. "We're going fast enough. No need to rush things."

"Ye're all afeared!" taunted Welcome. "Snakes alive, I could walk a heap faster'n what we're goin'. D'ruther walk, enough sight, if ye ain't goin' any faster'n this. This here ottermobill is an ole turtle. I hadn't ort ter brag about it, but when I was young an' lawless, I was that swift I could hold up a stage, then ride twenty miles an' hold up another, an' clean up the operation complete inside of an hour."

"It wasn't much of a day for hold-ups, either," spoke up Chub gravely.

"Anyways, that's what I done, Smarty," snorted Welcome, "but I didn't use no ottermobill—jest a plain hoss with four legs."

"Must have had six legs," said Clip. "Couldn't have gone that fast on a horse with only four."

"Now you butt in," snarled Welcome. "Goin' to put the clutch on the cylinders, Matt," he added, "an' advance the spark a couple o' feet? If y'ain't, I'm goin' to git out an' walk home. It's only five hours till supper, an' we must be all o' twelve miles from town."

"You see, Welcome," explained Matt, with a wink at Chub and Clip, "it wouldn't do to put the clutch on the cylinders, for I'd strip the gear; and if I advanced the spark more'n a foot I'd burn out the carburetter."

"D'ye reckon I didn't know that?" demanded Welcome indignantly. "Why, I kin fergit more about these here ottermobill's in a minit than some fellers knows in a year. But, say! What's that thing off to the side o' the road? Looks like a Gila monster."

All three of the boys turned their eyes swiftly to the roadside. The next instant Welcome had leaned far over, gripped the long lever at Matt's side and shoved it as far as he could.

They had been on the low gear; that put them on the high with a jump, and the red roadster flung madly ahead.

Matt shifted his eyes from the side of the road just in time to see Welcome sail out of the rumble, turn a half somersault and land, astonished, in a sitting posture in the road.

Both Chub and Clip had had a scare, the sudden plunge of the machine having made them grab each other, and they only missed going over the side by a hair's breadth.

As quickly as he could, Matt brought the lever to an upright position and pressed the primary foot-brake.

"The old freak!" shouted Chub, as the car came to a halt. "He came within one of putting the lot of us overboard. If he had two good legs, I'm a farmer if we wouldn't make him walk back to town for that!"

"If he don't agree to sit quiet in the rumble and enjoy the scenery," said Matt, "we'll make him walk, anyway. I won't allow any one to mix up with the machinery as long as I'm doing the driving."

Welcome must have received quite a jolt. For a second or two he acted as though he were dazed; then he slowly gathered in his hat, got upright and shook his fist at those in the car.

"Dad-bing!" he yelled. "Ye done it a-purpose, ye know ye did."

"Well, what do you think of that!" muttered Chub.

"Ye jest coaxed me out in that ole buzz-wagon ter hev fun with me," ranted Welcome. "Wonder ye didn't break my neck, 'r somethin'. I hit the trail harder'n a brick house, an' if I wasn't as springy as injy-rubber I'd hev been scattered all around here like a Chinese puzzle."

"Come on, Welcome!" called Matt. "But you've got to keep still and keep away from the machinery if you want to ride with us."

"Wouldn't ride in that ole cross between a kitchen stove an' a hay-rack fer a hunderd dollars a minit!" fumed Welcome. "I've stood all I'm a-goin' to. Ye've stirred up my lawlessness a-plenty, an' I'm goin' to hide out beside the road an' hold up the Montezuma stage when it comes through. Ye'll hear about it to-night, in town, an' then ye'll be sorry ye treated me like ye done. If ye got bizness any place else, hit yer ole gasoline-tank a welt an' don't let me detain ye a minit."

Rubbing the small of his back and muttering to himself, the old man started along the road in the direction of town.

"Let him walk a spell," said Chub in a low tone. "He wants us to coax him to get back in; let's make him think we're taking him at his word."

"All right," laughed Matt, who knew the eccentric old man as well as anybody, "we'll lag along into the hills for a mile or two, and then come back. I guess Welcome will be glad enough to get in by that time."

Chub got out and scrambled into the rumble. The machine took the spark without cranking and the red roadster started off.

"So-long, Perk!" shouted Chub hilariously, standing up in the rumble and waving his hand. "Tell Susie, when you get home, that we'll straggle in by supper-time."

The old man never looked around, but the way he stabbed the ground with his wooden pin showed how he felt.

Perhaps half a mile from the place where Welcome had left the car the boys met a horseman riding at speed in the direction of town. The man drew rein for an instant.

"Turn around!" he yelled; "p'int the other way! Can't ye hear 'em. Thar's a stampede on, an' a thousand head[Pg 3] o' cattle aire tearin' this way like an express-train! Listen! If ye don't hike, they'll run right over ye!"

Startled exclamations escaped the boys. The cowboy's manner, quite as much as his words, aroused their alarm.

The trail, for several miles in that particular part of the hills, was walled in on both sides by high, steep ground. This made a sort of chute of the road, so that those in charge of the cattle would not be able to get ahead of them and turn them.

Having given his warning and done what he could, the cowboy used his spurs and dashed on. At that moment a rumble of falling hoofs reached the ears of the boys, accompanied by the click, click of knocking horns and a frenzied bellowing.

"Turn 'er, quick!" whooped Chub.

But the command was unnecessary. Motor Matt with a firm hand and a steady brain, was already manipulating the red roadster, backing and forging ahead in order to get faced the other way in the cramped space.

Meanwhile the ominous sounds, which came from around the base of a hill where the road described a sharp bend, had been growing in volume.

Just as the roadster jumped away on the back stretch the cattle began pouring around the foot of the hill.

CHAPTER II.

THE STAMPEDE.

It was the custom of the ranchers to keep their cattle in the hills until they were nearly ready for market, then drive them down into Salt River Valley, turn them into the alfalfa-fields and let them fatten before shipment.

This herd of lean, brown cattle, wild as coyotes, had been started for the grass-lands of the valley. Very little was required to start a panic among them, and this panic had hit them at the very worst place possible on the entire drive.

With heads down, tongues protruding, foam flying from their open mouths, and horns knocking, the frenzied animals hurled themselves onward. Even if the sight of the automobile had frightened them, there could be no turning back for the leaders of the herd, pressed as they were by the charging brutes in the rear. And, of course, the character of the roadside, at that point, prevented any turning out or scattering.

All that lay between the boys and destruction was the speed of the car. If a tire blew up, or if anything went wrong with the machinery, the tidal wave of cattle would roll on over the car and its passengers.

"We're in fer it, fellers!" shouted Chub, who was in a good position to note the full extent of the danger.

There was no hanging back on Motor Matt's part. He was on the high speed, and caressing the throttle-lever as he steered.

"We're leaving 'em behind!" announced Clip. "Keep it up, Matt."

The red roadster was not only leaving the frightened herd behind, but was coming up with the cowboy, hand over fist.

"We'll have to slow down!" called Matt, between his clenched teeth, his flashing gray eyes straight ahead; "if we don't, we'll run over the man on the horse."

Just then they turned a bit of an angle that gave them a glimpse of Welcome Perkins. Faint sounds of the uproar behind had reached the old man. Planted in the middle of the road, he was staring back, wondering, no doubt, why the horseman was tearing along at such a rate of speed, and why the red roadster was letting itself out on the back track. But the old man was not kept long in doubt. Through the haze of dust back of the automobile he saw the plunging cattle.

The next moment he went straight up in the air with a terrified yell and made a dash for the side of the road. As fate would have it, the road at that point was hemmed in with banks too steep to be scaled; nevertheless, Welcome clawed frantically at the rocks.

"Stand whar ye are!" roared the cowboy. "I'll take ye up with me."

Welcome's peril struck wild alarm to the hearts of the boys. They realized that if they had insisted on the old man getting into the car he would not now be in that terrible predicament.

In order to get Welcome up behind him the cowboy had to throw himself back on the bit and bring the horse to a quick halt. He leaned down to help Welcome up, and Welcome, who was almost as frenzied as the steers, gave a wild jump and grabbed saddle-horn and cantle. Under his weight, and the weight of the cowboy, which was temporarily thrown on the same side, the saddle turned. Welcome dropped into the road, and his would be rescuer pitched on top of him. The horse, thoroughly frightened, jumped away and continued his breakneck pace down the road.

Yells of consternation went up from Chub and Clip. Matt had been obliged to bring the car almost to a halt while the cowboy was trying to pick up Welcome. The leaders of the stampeding herd had come dangerously close.

"They're on us!" whooped Chub despairingly; "we're all done for!"

"Not yet," shouted Matt, sending the car ahead toward the place where Welcome and the cowboy were scrambling to their feet. "Take 'em both aboard! Quick on it, now, and we'll get away."

The car rumbled up abreast of the two in the road.

"Jump in!" shouted Clip; "hustle!"

Welcome threw himself into the front of the car and the cowboy made a flying leap for the rumble. Clip grabbed one and Chub caught the other. By then the foremost of the steers were almost nosing the rear of the car.

Matt, without losing an instant, threw the lever clear over, and the roadster flung away like an arrow from a bow, on the high speed; then, a second later, he opened the throttle and the six purring cylinders sent the car along at a gait that was double that of the pursuing cattle.

"Wow!" panted Welcome, who had both arms around Clip and was hanging to him like grim death. "Keep holt o' me! I feel like every minute was goin' to be my next! Slow down a leetle, can't ye? If ye don't we'll be upside down in the ditch! Whoosh! I'd ruther take chances with them steers than ridin' a streak o' lightnin' like this. Br-r-r!"

Welcome was getting all the fast riding he wanted. The red roadster whipped and slewed around the curves,[Pg 4] and leaped like lightning across the straight-away stretches. Matt, cool as a summer day and as steady as a clock, had eyes and ears for nothing but that terrible flight.

Two minutes sufficed to bring the car out of the hills and onto the level plains.

"All right, pard!" cried Chub from the rear; "slow down, now, whenever you please. The cowboys have got ahead of the herd and the leaders are beginning to mill."

Matt slowed the pace to a ten-mile gait, and Welcome, with a gasp of relief, dropped in a limp huddle.

"Shade o' Gallopin' Dick!" he mumbled, pulling a sleeve across his dripping forehead. "I've been in snug corners a-plenty durin' my hootin', tootin' career, but dadbinged if I ever had a closter call than this here. When I uster ride," he added, with a sour look at the cowboy in the rumble, "fellers useter know how to cinch up their saddles so'st they stay."

"The givin' way o' that saddle," returned the cowboy, "was the best thing that ever happened to us. If I'd got you aboard that cayuse, Peg-leg, them cattle would hev nipped us, sure. The boss never could hev carried double an' got us out o' the way. This here devil-wagon," he finished, addressing the boys, "sartinly saved our scalps. I'm obliged ter ye fer what ye done."

"Where do those cattle belong?" asked Chub.

"To the Fiddleback outfit, same as me. I'm Josh Fresnay, an' I'm ridin' to town with the ole man's check fer ten thousand in gold ter pay off at the ranch. Got ter git ter the bank by three o'clock, 'r I won't be able ter git the money. I kin sojer back at any ole time ter-night, jest so'st the boys kin git their hooks on the dinero in the mornin'."

Chub introduced himself, Matt, Clip, and Welcome.

"Ye don't mean ter say," cried Fresnay, "that it's Motor Matt himself that made this devil-wagon cut that hole in the air?"

"Sure it is," laughed Chub. "Put him behind a motor an' you can bet your spurs there's somethin' doing."

"Waal, I reckon!" returned Fresnay enthusiastically. "Blamed few fellers in this part o' the kentry hevn't heerd o' Motor Matt. He's the one that ketched Dangerfield, the feller that was smugglin' Chinks inter the kentry, an' helped Burke, the Prescott sher'f, wind up the gang. Shore I've heerd o' Motor Matt. Put 'er thar, son!" and Fresnay leaned over the back of the seat and offered Matt his hand.

The young motorist laughed as he gave the cowboy's hand a cordial shake.

"It's easy to get talked about, Fresnay," said he.

"That's right!" declared the cowboy. "Rob a bank, er save a gal from gittin' run over by a train—almost anythin'll do ter make yer name a household word. Now, as fer me——"

The cowboy broke off his remarks with a long whistle. He was standing in the rumble, holding himself upright by gripping the back of the two front seats. His eyes, traveling along the trail over the heads of Matt and Clip, had seen something which aroused his surprise and gratification.

"Waal, great horn spoons!" he cried. "If thar ain't Ole Beeswax, that cayuse o' mine, I'm a sinner! I'll be hornswoggled if I ain't playin' in luck, this trip. I'll be able ter git out now, McReady," he added to Chub, "an' give ye a leetle more room."

Some distance away the horse was being held in the road. A tall man had the animal by the bridle. The man had a swarthy face, was roughly dressed, wore moccasins, and had evidently been footing it along the trail.

As the red roadster came closer, Matt stared at the man keenly, and a muttered exclamation escaped his lips. As he brought the car to a halt, Matt's gaze swerved to Clip.

Clip's eyes were like smoldering coals, and he was sitting rigidly erect.

"Feller looks like a half-breed," murmured Welcome Perkins. "Got all the earmarks o' one. Seein' as how he was travelin' afoot, it strikes me as some remarkable he didn't h'ist himself inter the saddle an' ride off with that hoss. Half-breeds, as a rule, ain't got much regard fer other folk's property. Mebby he was intendin' to. I see he's got the saddle back on top o' the hoss."

Fresnay tumbled out of the car and walked over to the half-breed.

"Hello, neighbor!" he called. "I see ye've caught up my hoss. He got away from me back there in the hills."

The half-breed grunted, swept his eyes over the cowboy and then over those in the car, and stepped forward to lay the reins in Fresnay's hand.

"Heap easy to ketch um," said he.

Clip and Chub got out to stretch their legs. Welcome gurgled delightedly as he sprawled himself in Clip's seat. Matt continued to watch the half-breed, but covertly.

Fresnay fished a silver dollar out of his pocket.