"Vat's der madder mit you? Hoop-a-la! Take dot, oof you like or oof you don'd like, und dere's anoder! Matt! Come along for der fightfest! Vere you vas, Matt, vile der scrimmage iss going on! Verral! Iss dot you?"
Just then, as Matt began scrambling upward, a form came hurtling down.
"They're onto us, Joe!" panted a voice. "This way, old pal! Nothing doing to-night. Cut for it! I ran into something at the foot of the steps—look out for that!"
Matt, who had been thrown violently against the wall, heard forms dashing past him. Before he could interfere with them, they were well along the passage.
SURROUNDED BY ENEMIES.
Although the two men had got past Matt, nevertheless he followed them to the end of the passage, arriving just in time to see them disappear through the opening and close the aperture with the slab.
Only two went out. What had become of Sercomb? Had Ferral and Carl captured him—catching him red-handed and so unmasking his treachery?
In any event, Ferral and Carl had proven more than a match for the two miscreants who had stolen in upon them. Thankful that the affair had turned out so fortunately for his friends, although still mystified as to what Sercomb's purpose was, Matt groped his way back along the corridor and mounted the steps.
It was a long flight—much longer than the one at the other end of the passage—and, at the top, Matt was confronted by a blank wall. He ran his hands over it, and, in so doing, must have touched a spring, for a section of the wall slid back and a sudden glow of lamplight blinded him.
"Ach, du lieber!" came the astounded voice of Carl. "Dere vas Matt, py chincher! Vere you come from, hey?"
Matt stepped from the head of the steps into the room in which Ferral and Carl had been sleeping. The panel closed noiselessly behind him.
"Sink me!" muttered Ferral, stepping past Matt to run his hands over the wall. "A nice little trap-door in the wall, or I'm a Fiji!" He whirled around. "How does it come you stepped through it, messmate?"
"Where's Sercomb?" whispered Matt, peering around.
"What's he got to do with this?"
Just at that moment Sercomb's voice came up from below.
"What's going on up there? Anything happened, Dick?"
"Two men came in and made trouble for us!" shouted Matt. "Didn't you hear 'em run down the stairs?"
"No, I didn't hear anybody!" answered Sercomb.
"Take a look around, and we'll see what we can find up here."
During this brief colloquy, Ferral and Carl were staring at Matt in open-mouthed astonishment.
Matt whirled to Ferral.
"Not a word to Sercomb about that hole in the wall," he whispered. "Tell me quick, what happened in here?"
"I was sleeping full and by, forty knots," answered Ferral, in the same low tone, "when I felt myself grabbed. It was dark as Egypt, and I couldn't see a thing. I shouted to Carl, and we had it touch and go, here in the dark. My eye, but it was a scrimmage! Right in the midst of it the fellows we were fighting melted away. I had just got the glim to going when you stepped in on us."
"Wasn't Sercomb in the fight?"
"Why, no. He must have been down-stairs, sleeping like a log. He only just chirped—you heard him."
"Well, Sercomb came into this room with two other men, through that hole in the wall——"
"Is that right?" demanded Ferral, his face hardening.
"Yes, but don't say a word about it. Wait till we find out what his game is."
"How dit you know all dot, Matt?" queried Carl.
Briefly as he could Matt sketched his recent experiences. The astonishing recital left his two friends gasping.
"The old hunks!" breathed Ferral, scowling. "I can smoke his weather-roll, fast enough. What did I tell you about the soft-sawdering beggar?"
Matt stepped into the hall and listened. Apparently, Sercomb was not in the house. Coming back, he pulled his two friends close together so they could hear him without his speaking above a whisper.
"Sercomb has gone out to hurry up the repairs on the big car and get it out of the way. We can talk a little, but we've got to be wary. Don't let Sercomb know anything about this clue I've picked up. We're surrounded by enemies, Ferral, and you're the object of some sort of game they've got on. By lying low, perhaps we can get wise to it."
"Dot shpook auto has dook a hant in der pitzness," murmured Carl, flashing a fearful glance around. "I don'd like dot fery goot."
"This spook business will all be explained, Carl," said Matt, "and you'll find that flesh and blood is mixed up in the whole of it. That white runabout put a shot into one of the tires of that big touring-car, and no revolver ever went off without a human hand back of it. We know, too, how those men got away from that room where they were playing cards. They ran in here, got through the hole in the wall and went out by way of the tunnel. That shot that was fired at you, Dick, and put out the lamp, must have come from this room, just before Sercomb and the others dodged through the wall."
"Sercomb?" echoed Ferral.
"Sure! It's a cinch he was playing cards in that room with the three men. He came here from Denver, and he must have traveled in that big car and brought the others with him."
"Oh, he's the nice boy!" commented Ferral sarcastically. "A fine cousin, that swab is! That phantom flugee is mixing in the game. I wonder if Sercomb has anything to do with that?"
"No. When the phantom auto showed up in the road, Sercomb and all three of the others were scared nearlyout of their wits. I'll bet that was the first time Sercomb ever saw it. Besides, the bullet that pierced the tire of the big car came from the runabout. That wouldn't have happened if the runabout was here to help Sercomb's plans."
"Right-o. What kind of a bally old place is this, anyhow? Holes in the wall, tunnels, and all that—it fair dazes me. What could Uncle Jack have wanted of a secret passage?"
"Didn't you tell me that this was an old Mexican house, and that your uncle bought it?" asked Matt.
"That's how he got hold of the place, matey."
"Then it must have come into his hands like we find it. The Mexicans used to build queer houses; I found that out while I was down in Phœnix."
Matt turned away and took a look at the walls. They were wainscoted in cedar, all around. Every little way there were panels, and the entrance to the passage, which Matt had recently used, was by a panel.
"The walls of these adobe houses are always thick," went on Matt, "but these walls are even thicker than common. There's room in this wall for that stairway, and no one would ever suspect the wall is hollow, simply because it's made of adobe."
"How does the door work?" queried Ferral, stepping to the wainscoting and trying to manipulate the panel. "I'd like to know how to get the cover off the blooming hatch; the knowledge might come handy."
Along the wainscoting, about five feet from the floor, were arranged clothes-hooks. Matt, helping Ferral hunt for the secret spring that operated the panel, pulled on one of the hooks. Instantly the panel slid open, answering the pull on the hook with weird silence.
"Chiminy grickets!" murmured Carl, stepping back. "Dot looks like der vay to der infernal blace."
Ferral stepped forward as though he would pass through the opening, but Matt caught his arm and held him back.
"Don't go down there now, Ferral," said he. "When Sercomb comes we want him to find us here. He doesn't guess that I'm next to what he's done to-night, and none of his confederates know it. If we keep mum, the knowledge may do us a lot of good. If we try to face him down with it, we'll only show him our hands without accomplishing anything."
"The sneaking lubber!" growled Ferral. "Why, he berthed us in this room so he and his mates could sneak in on us while we were asleep. But," and here Ferral rubbed his chin perplexedly, "what did they want to do that for?"
"We'll find out," returned Matt, "if we play our cards right."
"You're the lad to discover things," said Ferral admiringly. "I never had a notion you were going to slip out of the house when you left us."
"And I never had a notion what I was going to drop into," said Matt, "I can promise you that. But it is a tip-top clue, and we'll be foolish if we don't use it for all it's worth."
"You've started off in handsome style! Your head-work makes me feel like a green hand and a lubber."
"Dot's Matt, Verral," declared Carl, puffing up like a turkey-cock. "He alvays does t'ings in hantsome shdyle, you bed you. He iss der lucky feller to tie to, dot's righdt. I know, pecause I haf tied to him meinseluf, und I haf peen hafing luck righdt along efer since, yah, so. Be jeerful, eferypody, und oof der shpooks leaf us alone, ve vill all come oudt oof der horn py der pig end. But vat makes Sercomb act like dot?"
"He wants Uncle Jack's property," scowled Ferral, "and I'll wager that's what he's working for."
"But how can he be working for it when he's already got it?" put in Matt. "He claims to have found your uncle, and to have secured the will."
"That's his speak-easy for it. He's a long-winded grampus, and can talk the length of the best bower, but that don't mean that there's any truth in all his wig-wagging."
"Now you're hitting the high gear without any lost motion," said Matt. "Between you and me and the spark-plug, Dick, I don't think he ever found your uncle; and, as for the will, if he really has it, and everything's left to him, what's all this underhand work for?"
A sudden thought came to Ferral.
"Say," he whispered hoarsely, "do you think that sneaking cur could have handed out any foul play to Uncle Jack? I hate to think it of him, but——"
"No," answered Matt gravely, "I don't think——"
He was interrupted by some one coming in at the front door, and stopped abruptly.
"There's Sercomb now," he whispered. "Let's hear what he's got to say for himself. Mind you don't let out anything about my clue. When you had your trouble, I ran in here from the other room and lent a hand."
"Are you up there?" came Sercomb's voice. "I can't find a soul about the place."
From the road the boys could hear the muffled pounding of a motor. And they knew, even as Sercomb spoke, that he was not telling the truth.
THE KETTLE CONTINUES TO BOIL.
Sercomb came up-stairs and stepped into the room. Daylight was just coming in through the windows, and the gray of the morning and the yellow of the lamplight gave Sercomb's face a ghastly look. Nevertheless, it was a frank and open face—as always.
"Now, Dick," cried Sercomb, "what in the world has been going on here? Do you mean to say that some one came into this room and attacked you?"
"That's the how of it, old ship," answered Ferral, repressing his real feelings admirably. "As near as we can figure out, there were two of them. It was so dark, though, we couldn't see our own fists, so there may have been more than two."
"Some of the gang who dropped in here while I was away, I'll bet," said Sercomb.
"I'm thinking the same thing, Ralph," returned Ferral, with a meaning look at Matt. "They were handy, too, but not handy enough. They left us all at once, and how they ever did it beats me. We boxed the compass for 'em, though, and when we'd worked around the card they thought they had enough—and ducked."
"Where did they go?"
"Didn't you hear them go out the front door?"
"Not I, Dick! If I had, I'd have taken a part in the scrimmage myself."
"You were slow hearing the racket, Ralph. It was all over when you piped up."
"I heard it quick enough, but I was sound asleep when it aroused me. Being a little bewildered, I went out into the kitchen."
Something like loathing swept over Matt as he watched Sercomb's face and listened to his smooth misstatement.
"Wonder how Uncle Jack managed to hang on in such a lawless country as this," said Ferral.
"No one ever bothered him. He was pretty well liked by the scattered settlers."
"Everybody liked the old chap! I thought no end of him myself."
"Too bad you didn't show it, Dick, while he was alive," said Sercomb.
There wasn't any sarcasm in his voice—only a dry, expressionless statement of what Ferral knew were the cold facts. Nevertheless, there was a gratuitous slur in the words. Ferral bristled at once, but a look from Matt caused him to curb his temper.
"Belay a bit on that, Ralph," said Ferral mildly. "I know it well without your say-so to round it off. From now on, though, I'll do my best to show Uncle Jack what I think of him."
Sercomb looked a little puzzled.
"His will shows everybody what he thought of you—at the last," said he.
It looked as though Sercomb was deliberately trying to force a quarrel, but Ferral, still with Matt's glances to admonish him, did not fall into the trap.
"I'll go down and get breakfast," observed Sercomb, after waiting in vain for a response from Ferral. "Some Denver friends are coming up from Lamy to make me a little visit, and we may be a bit crowded here. There are three of them."
It was a broad hint for Dick Ferral to take his two friends and leave, as soon after breakfast as he could make it convenient. Ferral fired up at that. Matt and Carl had served him well, and he was not the one to put up with any back-handed slaps from his cousin Ralph.
"By the seven holy spiritsails, Sercomb!" he cried, "I'll have you know that I and my friends have as much right under Uncle Jack's roof as you and yours. We'll be here to breakfast, and as long as we want to stay."
"Now, don't fly off at a tangent, Dick," returned Sercomb, with a distressed look. "I didn't mean anything like that, and why do you go out of your way to take me in any such fashion? I'll go down and get the meal for all of us—if you can put up with my cooking."
"Go and help, Carl," said Matt. "We don't want to make Mr. Sercomb any extra trouble. We won't be here very long, anyhow."
"Dot's me," said Carl, as cheerfully as he could.
He hated to be associated with Sercomb, but the idea of a meal always struck a mellow note in Carl's get-up.
"You understand, don't you, Mr. King?" said Sercomb, in a whining tone, turning to Matt and jerking his head toward Ferral.
"Perfectly," smiled Matt.
Carl and Sercomb went out. When they were going down the stairs Ferral shook his fist.
"Shamming the griffin!" he growled; "the putty-faced shark, I'd like to lay him on his beam-ends! Do you wonder I've had a grouch at him all these years, Matt?"
"No, I don't," said Matt frankly; "but stick it out. I've a hunch, Dick, that you're soon going to be done with your cousin for good and all. He's playing a game here that's going to get him into hot water."
Matt stretched himself out on the bed.
"I'm going to lie here," said he, "and you can talk to me. Carl will keep an eye on Sercomb. Tell me more about your uncle."
"He was no end of a toff in London," replied Ferral, taking a chair and casting a look at the portrait. "His wife died, and that broke him up; then his daughter died, and that was about the finish. He bucked up, though, and crossed the pond. When he was in Hamilton he said he wanted to go some place where there wasn't so many people. Then he came here."
"This last move of his," said Matt, "looks like a strange one to me."
"He was full of his crochets, Uncle Jack was, but there was always a good bit of sense down at the bottom of them. Sercomb would have gone down on his knees and licked his boots, knowing Uncle Jack had money, and nobody but him and me to leave it to. There's another cut to my jib, though. I wouldn't go around where he was because I was afraid he'd think the same of me. I've got a notion, Matt, and it just came to me."
"What is it?"
"I'll bet that, when Uncle Jack left, he hid that will, and that he signed it and left blank the place where his heir's name was to be. The one that was shrewd enough to find it, you know, could put in his own name."
"Why should he do that?"
"Just to see whether Sercomb or I was the smarter."
"But you overlook what your uncle said about being found wherever the will was discovered."
"Right-o. I'm always overlooking things. You see, I'm taken all aback with this game of Sercomb's. If I knew what his lay was, or what he's trying to accomplish, I'd have my turn-to in short order. Still, as you say, he's going to get his what-for no matter which way the wind blows."
"There's a lot of things happened that are mighty mysterious," mused Matt; "little by little, though, they're clearing up. That clue I hooked onto last night makes several things clear. Did Sercomb know you were coming?"
"The Lamy lawyer must have told him he'd found out where I was, and had written to me. One thing I did do, and that was to sling my fist to a letter for Uncle Jack, once a month, anyhow. So he knew I was down in the Panhandle."
"When you pounded on the door last night, Sercomb must have suspected it was you. If he hadn't, he'd have let you in."
"He'd have let me in anyhow, only he didn't want me to see those other three swabs. And then for him to play-off like he did, and say he was calling at a neighbor's! It would have done me a lot of good to blow the gaff, when he came in on us a spell ago, and let him understand just where he gets off."
"That wouldn't have helped any, and it might have spoiled our chances for finding out what he's up to."
What answer Ferral made to this Matt did not hear. The young motorist had put in a strenuous night, and he was worn out. Ferral's words died to a mumble, and before Matt knew it he was sound asleep.
Some one shook him, and he opened his eyes and started up.
"Dozed off, did I?" he laughed. "Sorry, old man, butI didn't sleep any last night, you know. You were saying——"
An odor of boiling coffee and sizzling bacon floated up from down-stairs.
"What I was saying, mate," answered Ferral, "was some sort of a while ago. I've had my jaw-tackle stowed for an hour, letting you do the shut-eye trick. But now it's about mess-time, I reckon; and, anyhow, those friends of Sercomb's are here from Lamy. Listen!"
The chug of a motor on the low gear came to Matt. Getting up, he looked out of a window that commanded the front of the house.
A car was coming slowly along the blind trail from the road, following the same course the Red Flier had taken the night before.
As the automobile drew closer, Matt gave a startled exclamation.
"Some new kink in the yarn, Matt?" queried Ferral.
"I should say so!" answered Matt. "That's the same car that was in the road last night——"
"What?" demanded Ferral, grabbing Matt's arm.
"There's no doubt of it, Dick," said Matt; "and the three in the car are the same ones Sercomb met and talked with. Two of them, of course, are the handy-boys who blew in here and roughed things up with you and Carl."
The car came to a stop in front. Just then the front door opened and Sercomb rushed out.
"Hello, fellows!" he called. "Mighty glad to see you. Pile out and clean up for the grub-pile——"
Matt heard that much, and just then had to turn around to look after Ferral. With an angry growl, Ferral had broken away and started down the stairs.
"Dick!" called Matt, running after him.
But Ferral gave no heed to the call. He was down the stairs and out of the door like a shot. Matt was close on his heels, but he was not close enough to keep him from trouble.
"You two-faced crimp!" Matt heard him yell. "You'll down me in Lamy and take my money, will you, and then show up here! Now, strike me lucky if I don't play evens!"
ORDERED AWAY.
Matt remembered at once what Ferral had said about having been robbed while on his way to La Vita Place. Now that Ferral had recognized one of the newcomers as the man who had made the treacherous assault on him, a new light was thrown on that Lamy robbery. If the thief was one of Sercomb's friends, it looked as though Sercomb must have had a guilty knowledge of the affair—perhaps had planned it.
Matt attempted to grab Ferral and pull him away, but Sercomb and the other two got ahead of him. The three laid hold of Ferral so roughly that Matt immediately gave them his attention.
"Let up on that!" he cried, catching Sercomb and jerking him away just as he was about to strike Ferral with his clenched fist. "There's no need of pounding Dick."
"I'll poundyouif you give me any of your lip!" answered Sercomb.
"The latch-string's out," answered Matt grimly. "Walk in."
At that moment Carl rolled out of the door.
"Vat's der rooction?" he tuned up, his eyes dancing over the squabble.
Carl was always as ready to fight as he was to eat, which is saying a good deal.
"Help me get Ferral away from that fellow, Carl," called Matt.
"On der chump!"
Carl landed right in the midst of the struggle, and in about half a minute he and Matt had separated Ferral from his antagonist. With a neat crack, straight from the shoulder, Matt disarmed a fellow who had jerked a wrench out of the automobile. This put the last finishing touch to the clash, and both sides drew apart, bunching together, and each panting and glaring at the other.
"Dere iss only vone t'ing vat I can do on a embty shtomach, und dot's fighdt," wheezed Carl, slapping his arms. "It don'd vas ofer so kevick? I got a pooty leedle kitney-punch vat I vould like to hant aroundt, only I don'd haf der dime."
"Take off your grappling-hooks, Matt," puffed Ferral, squirming to get out from under Matt's hands. "Dowse me if I've taken that crimp's full measure, yet. The nerve of him, breezing right up here with my money in his clothes!"
"Steady!" said Matt, closing down harder on Ferral and easily holding him. "This has gone far enough."
"I should say it had," spoke up Sercomb, showing a flash of temper. "Pretty way for my friends to be treated! I won't stand for it."
"When you've got thieves for friends, Sercomb," cried Ferral, "you're liable to have to stand for a good deal!"
"Hand him one for that, Joe!" urged one of the newcomers. "That's the first time I ever heard a thing like that batted up to Joe Mings, and him not raising so much as a finger against the man that said it."
"We've got to think of Ralph, Harry," said Joe Mings. "This row makes it uncomfortable for him."
"Especially since the chap that's making such a holy show of himself is my own cousin," remarked Sercomb, with bitter reproach.
"The more shame to you," flared Ferral, "to let the hound that robbed your own cousin come here like he's done, and take his part. Keep your offing, Joe Mings," he added, to the thief, "or I'll tie you into a granny's knot and heave you clean over your devil-wagon! Where's that money? I need it, and I'm going to have it."
"I don't know what you're talking about," answered Mings. "You must be dippy! Why, I never saw you before until you rushed out and tried to climb my neck."
"You two-tongued swab! Do you mean to stand up there and say you didn't meet me in Lamy, tell me you were a Canadian in distress, and ask me to go to your boarding-house with you and square a bill with your landlady? And will you say you didn't land on me with a pair of knuckle-dusters in a dark street and run off with my roll?"
"That's a pipe," asserted Joe Mings. "Somebody's doped you."
"Enough of this, Dick," said Sercomb. "Joe's a friend of mine. All these lads are friends, and all of them drivers of speed-cars. They're here by my invitation. As for you, you're not here by anybody's invitation——"
"Except Uncle Jack's," interposed Ferral grimly.
"Uncle Jack has cashed in, and he's not to be counted. This ranch belongs to me, and you and your ruffianly friends will leave it. Your friends can't ever come back here—and neither can you until you learn how to behave. Come on in, boys," he added to the others. "Grub's on the table."
"Avast a minute!" called Ferral. "I'm ready to trip anchor and slant away—having never liked you so you could notice, and liking you less than ever after this round—but I and my mates will have our chuck before we go. What's more, that shark will hand over my funds, or I'll come back here with an officer and make him more trouble than he can get out of."
"He hasn't got your money," said Sercomb, "so he can't turn it over. What's more, you'll dust out of herenow!"
"Oh, I will!" Ferral lurched for the door, and Matt and Carl followed him. "You may have right and title to this bally old dugout, Sercomb, but you'll have a chance to show me that in court; and Uncle Jack may be dead and gone, but that's something I'll find out for myself, and make good and sure of it, at that. His money don't bother me, for I've my two hands and know the ropes of a trade, so I won't starve; but it's Uncle Jack himself I'm thinking of. As for you, you were always a mixture of bear, bandicoot, and crocodile, and I wouldn't trust you the length of a cable. I and my mates are going in and eat, and if you want to avoid a smash, don't cross our hawser while we're doing it."
He turned from the door, and, followed by Matt and Carl, went into the sitting-room, where the table had been spread.
"Now we've got Sercomb's signals," said Ferral, dropping into a chair at the table, "and know where we all stand. What do you think of this new twist in the game, Matt?"
"Too bad it happened," answered Matt, as he and Carl likewise seated themselves. "We were just getting squared away to find out something worth while, Dick."
"I couldn't hold myself in, that's all. The idea of Sercomb having that crimp in tow! I'm a Fiji if I don't think my dear cousin put up that Lamy job with Mings."
"I'd thought of that, too. But why should he do it?"
"To knock the bottom out of my ditty-bag and keep me away from La Vita Place. More belike, he'd a notion Mings would land me in a sick-bay. You remember Uncle Jack's room was all torn up when we first saw it?"
Matt nodded.
"Why was that?" Ferral went on. "Carpet torn away, sea-chest dumped all over the floor, everything in a raffle. Why was that?"
"What do you think was the cause of it?"
Ferral leaned across the table.
"Sercomb had been looking for Uncle Jack's will!" he declared. "He never found Uncle Jack, and he never found the will. If he's got a piece of paper, it's one he's fixed up for himself."
"Mighty serious talk, old chap," said Matt gravely, "but I've a hunch you've got the right end of it, at that. But for this row, we might have been on fairly good terms with Sercomb, and have used our knowledge, in a quiet way, to discover what he's trying to do."
"Vell," remarked Carl, "he has rushed dot gang in here, und dot makes four to dree. Meppy id vas pedder ve don'd shday. Aber I'd like to hang on, you bed you! Sooch a chance for some fighding I nefer foundt yet."
Then followed a brief interval of silence, during which the boys gave their whole attention to their food. Ferral was first to speak.
"You were going to set sail for Santa Fé this morning, Matt."
"We could never pull out and leave you in this mess," answered Matt. "Mr. Tomlinson has given us plenty of time to get to Santa Fé."
"Sure, ve shday undil you vas pedder fixed to be jeerful, Verral," put in Carl. "Dot's der greadt t'ing in life, my poy, alvays to make some shmiles, no madder vich vay chumps der cat, und be jeerful."
"You're a pair of mates worth having," averred Ferral, with feeling. "I don't know what I'd have done if it hadn't been for you. The very first thing you haul me off a cliff wall. If you hadn't done that, by now Sercomb would be having the run of the ship. I'll do something for you some time, even if I have to travel around the world to do it. Just now, though, I'd like to know what's become of Tippoo, Uncle Jack'skitmagarandkhansa-man."
"Vat's dose?" inquired Carl.
"The Hindu foot-servant and steward," explained Ferral. "Uncle Jack was in India for a while, and that's where he picked up Tippoo. Sercomb, when we first met him here, hinted that Tippoo may have handed Uncle Jack his come-up-with, but that was unjust. Tippoo would lay down his life for Uncle Jack, and has been devoted to him for years."
A noise from the barn reached those in the sitting-room. A window of the room commanded a view of the barn. Matt, suddenly looking through the window, uttered an exclamation, sprang up, grabbed his hat, and rushed through the kitchen and out of the house.
"What's the bloming racket now?" cried Ferral, likewise getting to his feet.
"Look vonce!" answered Carl, pointing through the window. "Dere iss a shance for more scrimmages! Led us fly some kites so ve don'd lose nodding oof der seddo."
Through the window Ferral could see that the barn doors had been broken open, and that Sercomb and his three companions were around the Red Flier.
Knowing Matt's concern on account of the machine, Ferral lost not a moment in running through the kitchen and following Matt and Carl.
A NEW PLAN.
"Get away from that machine!" cried Matt, leaping into the barn.
He had grabbed up a club on the way, and as he spoke he advanced threateningly upon Sercomb and his friends.
All four were in the car or around it. What they were trying to do Matt did not know, but he felt pretty sure they had not broken into the barn with harmless intentions concerning the Red Flier.
Sercomb turned away from the front of the machine and the others got out.
"What are you intending to do with that club?" Sercomb demanded.
"That depends on what you're trying to do to that car," answered Matt.
"This is my property and the car has no business here. We want this place for the other machine."
"Then leave the barn and I'll run the machine out. I don't allow any one to fool with that car."
"There ain't one of us," struck in Mings, "that don't know more about a car in a minute than you do in a year."
"That may be," said Matt, "but I'm boss of the Red Flier, all the same."
"I've heard about you, King," went on Mings. "Dace Perry, of Denver, is a friend of mine, and he told me just what kind of a four-flusher you are—always sticking your nose into other people's business, same as now."
"Glad to hear Perry has a friend," returned Matt amiably, "but he could have told you a whole lot that I guess he thought he hadn't better."
Just then Carl and Ferral flocked into the barn.
"Are they trying to scuttle that red craft, Matt?" asked Ferral.
"No," was the reply, "they're just going to run it out of the barn to make room for the other car. I told them I'd attend to it."
"And when you get the car out of the barn," said Sercomb pointedly, "just keep going, all of you."
"We'll do that to the king's taste," averred Ferral. "I wouldn't hang around here with you and your outfit for a bushel of sovs, Sercomb, although I'm coming back after my roll."
"Come on, fellows," called Sercomb, and left the barn with his friends at his heels.
Matt got the Red Flier in shape, Carl climbed into the tonneau and Ferral into the front seat, and they moved out of the barn.
As they passed around the house they saw Mings sitting in the other car, evidently watching it to make sure it would not be tampered with. He scowled at the Red Flier as it passed.
"Dey like us a heap—I don'd t'ink," chuckled Carl. "I bed you dot Mings feller iss vone oof der chumps vat come indo der room lasht nighdt, Verral."
"He don't like me any too well," said Ferral grimly. "And he's none too easy in his mind, either. He knows what I can do to him for that Lamy business."
"Are you really going to get an officer in Lamy and come back here?" asked Matt.
"Strike me lucky if I'm not!"
Reaching the main road, Matt turned in the direction of Lamy and the cliffs.
"We'll take you to Lamy," said Matt, "and bring the officer back. We've the whole day before us, though, and there's something else I'd like to do."
"Name it, mate. I'm in for anything."
"I'd like to go along the top of those cliffs and see if I can find how and where that white runabout went to last night."
"If you go along the cliffs, you'll have to walk. Why not make your examination from the road?"
"We can't see enough from the road, Dick. There may be something on the other side of that ridge. By walking, and staying on the cliffs, we can see both sides. The mystery of that white auto may be the key to the whole affair at La Vita Place. Now's the time to settle it. If we don't, Sercomb and those other fellows will."
"Right-o! We'll leave the Red Flier somewhere and tackle the game on foot."
"We can't leave the Red Flier alone," said Matt. "I was going to suggest, Dick, that we run the car off the road, between here and the cliffs, and that you stay with it. I've got to look out for the machine, you know. I came pretty near losing it, near Fairview, in Arizona, and that gave me a jolt I'll never forget. It's a five-thousand-dollar car, and if anything happened to it it would be difficult to explain the matter satisfactorily to Mr. Tomlinson."
"I smoke you, mate," returned Ferral. "You've butted into this affair of mine, and if you were to lose the old flugee on account of it, I'd feel worse than you. I'll stay with the thing, and you can be sure nothing will happen to it. You and Carl go hunt for the spook-car. I'll wait. How far do you intend to hoof it over the cliffs?"
"If necessary, I'd like to go clear to that gully where the machine flashed into the cliff road ahead of us; but I'm particularly anxious to look over the ground this side of the turn, at the place where the white car vanished so mysteriously."
"Crack the nut! If any one can do it, by jingo, it's Motor Matt."
By then they had reached a point about half-way between La Vita Place and the cliffs. Here, off to one side of the road, there was a patch of timber, and Matt turned the Red Flier, ran across the flat ground, and drew up among the trees.
"Here's a good shady place for you to wait, Dick," said Matt. "Carl and I may not be back before noon."
"Take your time, mate. I'm the greatest fellow to sojer in the dog-watch you ever saw. Take your turn-to, and when you want me on deck, just give the call."
Matt and Carl got out, returned to the road, and proceeded on toward the cliffs.
The road was a straight stretch clear to the first turn that carried it to the edge of the precipice. Matt and Carl remarked upon this as they strode forward.
"A pad blace for any one to come in der nighdt, oof dey vas regless," observed Carl. "I don'd vant to go ofer dot roadt again in der nighdt, nod me."
"We won't have to go over it again with our lamps, Carl," said Matt. "It won't take us long to run to Lamy, get an officer, and come back to La Vita Place. If we get back to the Red Flier by noon, we can make the round trip to town by four o'clock, and have half an hour to get our dinner."
"Sure! Dot's der talk. Aber I don'd t'ink ve vas going to findt der vite car, Matt."
"I'm not expecting to find the white car, but I want to discover how it managed to vanish like it did."
Carl shook his head gruesomely. He was still half-inclined to credit the runabout with "shpook" proclivities, and Matt's new plan didn't appeal to him very powerfully.
When they came to the chasm they paused to note how the road, in reaching its treacherous path along the edge, broke suddenly from a straight line into a sharp curve. Certainly it was a bad place for motoring.
In order to get to the top of the cliff that edged the road on the right, the boys had to do some hard climbing; but when they were on the crest of the uplift, theview that stretched out around them was ample reward for their toil.
On their left they could look down on the ribbon of road, winding between the foot of the cliff and the chasm; and on their right they looked away toward a swale, which made the cliff-tops a sort of divide.
"Dot gulch down dere," shuddered Carl, looking over the cliff, "iss more as a million feed teep, I bed you."
"I don't know about that," said Matt, "but it's deep enough."
"Oof Verral hat dumpled from dot push," went on Carl, "he vould haf gone clear py China."
"That swale," said Matt, pointing in the other direction, "is where the gully enters the hills. As the gully runs on toward Lamy it comes closer and closer to the cliff trail."
He turned and looked behind him.
In the distance he could see the clump of timber where Ferral had been left with the Red Flier; and beyond the little patch of woods could be seen the larger grove that sheltered La Vita Place. The touring-car was screened from sight, and so was the adobe house. Matt was not interested in either of them just then, however, but was working out another problem in his mind.
"Carl," said he, "there's just a hint of a road leading out of the swale and off toward La Vita Place."
"Vell, vat oof dot?" asked Carl.
"Incidentally," answered Matt, "if one wanted to cut off a good big piece of that dangerous road, in going to Lamy, he could leave La Vita Place and follow the blind track through the swale and gully, coming out on the cliff trail just where the white runabout showed itself in front of us last night."
"Py shiminy!" exclaimed Carl. "You're der feller to vork mit your headt, Matt. Yah, so. Meppy dot's der vay dot shpook car come oudt on us, hey? You t'ink she come from La Fita Blace?"
"That's only a guess. The white car had to come from somewhere. Let's go on."
They climbed across the rugged cliff-top, and as they neared the turn where the white runabout had vanished the night before, the gully angled quite close to them; then, bending with the curve of the cliff road, went on until it merged with the face of the cliffs.
At this point the cliff was not so high, with respect to the road, and its face was not so steep. While Matt was trying to figure out how the phantom auto had made its abrupt disappearance, a sudden cry from Carl drew his attention.
"Ach, du lieber!" faltered Carl. "Der teufel is coming some more. See here, Matt!"
Matt, following Carl's shaking finger with his eyes, saw the white runabout. Apparently of its own volition, it was proceeding Lamyward along the gully. Sometimes it darted out of sight behind a rise in the gully wall, and again it came into full view, white, gleaming, and presenting a most uncanny spectacle.
A DARING LEAP.
While Matt watched the car an idea darted through his head.
"The way to find out about that auto is to capture it," said he, speaking quickly.
"How you vas going to do dot?" queried Carl. "Oof ve hat der Ret Flier along, meppy ve could oferhaul der shpook, aber I don'd know vedder it vould be righdt to indulch in any sooch monkey-doodle pitzness. Ven der car puffs oudt mit itseluf, ve vould puff oudt mit it. Vere you vas going, Matt?"
Matt was lowering himself over the top of the steep bank, just around the curve above the cliff road.
"Come on," he called back, "and be careful. This is dangerous work."
Carl was not in a mood to tamper with the white runabout, nor was he in a mood to let Matt do the tampering alone. Sorely against his will, he began lowering himself down the steep bank, close beside his chum.
"Vy dis iss, anyvay?" he asked. "Vat a regless pitzness! Oof ve lose holdt oof somet'ing, ve vould fall in der roadt, undt meppy scood righdt ofer der roadt und go down vere Verral ditn't go."
"Hang on, Carl, that's the thing to do," returned Matt.
"Yah, you bed you I hang on! I don'd vant to fall py China und make some visits mit der Chings. I vouldn't enchoy dot, as I vould be all in bieces. Aber for vy iss dis, Matt? Vy you do dot?"
As they worked their way down the desperate slope, hanging to stunted bushes and projecting rocks, Matt explained.
"The white runabout may be going to Lamy," said he, "but I hardly think it would show up in the town like that——"
"Id vould schare der peobles oudt oof deir vits oof it dit!" puffed Carl. "Wow!" he fluttered, making a slip and only saving himself a fall by grabbing a bush with both hands. "A leedle more, Matt, und you vouldn't haf hat no Dutch bard."
"But it's my opinion," pursued Matt, completely wrapped up in the work in hand, "that the runabout is going to make the turn, just as it did last night, and come back toward La Vita Place along the cliff road."
"Vy it do dot foolishness, hey?"
"Give it up. Perhaps we'll know all about it before long. Find a good place, about six feet above the road, and hang on."
"Yah, you bed my life I don'd ged indo der roadt oof der shpook pubble iss coming. I vould haf to ged oudt oof der vay, und meppy I vould go ofer der edge like vat Verral dit, und you couldn't haf some ropes to helup me oudt. I vas fixed all righdt, Matt."
Carl had planted himself on a good foothold and was clinging to a stunted bush. Matt was on a level with him and a little to one side.
"Listen!" cried Matt.
It was impossible, of course, for the boys to see around the shoulder of the cliff, but a low murmuring sound reached their ears, growing quickly in volume.
"Dot's it!" said Carl excitedly; "she vas coming, I bed you! She vill go py righdt unter us, und ve can look down und see vat ve can see, vich von't be nodding. Aber I vish dot I vas some odder blace as here. Oof dot——"
Carl broke off his talk. Just then the white car came spinning around the curve.
What Motor Matt was intending to do Carl hadn't the least notion, but he was pretty sure it must be something reckless.
The car was nearly upon them when Motor Matt, a resolute gleam in his gray eyes, loosened his hold on therocks. Carl's shock of tow-colored hair began to stand up like porcupine bristles. Something was about to happen, and he caught his breath.
Then somethingdidhappen, and the Dutch boy got back his breath with a rush.
"Look a leedle oudt!" yelled Carl, as Motor Matt made a quick jump for the phantom auto.
It was a daring leap—so daring that Carl hung to his bush with both hands and expected to see his chum either miss the machine altogether or else carom off the opposite side, bound into the road, and go hurtling into the chasm.
But Matt was too athletic, his nerves were too steady, and his eyes too keen for that.
Carl saw him land in the front of the white runabout in a heap. He was thrown violently against the seat, and then went sprawling against the dash. The runabout slewed dangerously, and something like a squeal came from somewhere.
"Ach, chincher," panted Carl; "he vas some goners! I don'd nefer expect to see Motor Matt alife any more! Donnervetter! Vy he do dot?"
Quickly as he could, Carl dropped into the road.
"Matt!" he called, whirling about and looking in the direction the white car had been going.
Then he staggered back against the rocks.
The auto had disappeared and taken Motor Matt along with it!
Carl's nerves were in rags. He didn't know what to do. Possessed with the notion that Matt had faded into nothing along with the spook car, he turned and began running the other way.
He stopped suddenly, however. Matt was his pard, and to run away from him like that was something Carl knew he ought not to do. But was he running away from Matt? If Matt had been snuffed into nothing with the car, how could he be running away from him?
This was all foolish, of course, but Carl was so upset he wasn't himself.
He stopped his running, however, and came stealthily back, staring on all sides of him with eyes like saucers.
"Now vat I vas going to do?" he groaned. "Dere don'd vas a Modor Matt any more, und dere iss der Red Flier, pack along der roadt, und Verral, und sooch a mess as I can't dell at der La Fita Blace. Ach, himmelblitzen!"
Carl, overcome by the dark outlook, sank down on the rocks and covered his face with his hands.
Near him the face of the cliff was covered with a growth of bushes and trailing vines.
Suddenly Carl heard a voice that lifted him to his feet as though a spring had been released under him.
It was his name! Somebody had called his name, and it sounded like Matt's voice.
"Vot it iss?" demanded Carl, a spasm of hope running through him.
"Come here!"
Carl looked all around, but without seeing where he was to go.
"Iss dot you, Matt?" he asked.
"Sure."
"Vere you vas, den? How you t'ink I come py you oof I don'd know dot? Chiminy grickets, aber dis iss keveer!"
"I'm inside the cliff," Matt answered. "Push through the bushes."
Carl stepped in front of the trailing vines and brush.
"Iss it all righdt?" he quavered.
"Come on, come on," called Matt impatiently.
Carl pushed the bushes and vines aside, revealing a wide clear space which had been completely masked by the foliage. The ground, breaking in a level stretch from the cliff road, led smoothly away into the very bosom of the cliff.
Still dubious, Carl pushed slowly on into the darkness. The vines fell back behind him and the parted bushes snapped across the opening.
"I can't see nodding!" he wailed.
"Come straight ahead," said Matt reassuringly. "I'm only a little ways off, and the car is here, too."
"Iss der shpook in der car?"
Matt laughed.
"We'll settle this spook business in short order," said he.
Carl reached the car, and felt Matt's hand guiding him around the side.
"How you shtop der pubble, Matt?" faltered Carl.
"I didn't stop it; somebody else did that."
At that moment a muffled voice called:
"Get in de car, sahib! We go on to de daylight."
Carl gave a jump and grabbed hold of Matt.
"Who iss dot?" he fluttered.
"We'll find out before we're many minutes older," said Matt. "Get in, Carl."
Assisted by Matt, Carl got into one of the seats, while Matt climbed into the other.
"All ready," announced Matt, in a loud voice.
Instantly a glow from the acetylene lamps flooded the gloom ahead. The boys could see a rocky tunnel, wide and high, leading straight on through the heart of the cliff.
"Ach!" chattered Carl. "Ve go py kingdom come now, I bed you."
"Hardly that," laughed Matt. "We're bound for daylight once more. Wait and watch."
Swiftly and surely the white car glided on. Presently the boys saw trailing vines and bushes ahead of them, similar to the screen at the other end of the tunnel.
Snap!Off went the lights. Then, with startling suddenness, they brushed through the screen and were once more in the broad light of day.
The gully lay before them, and when they had reached the center of it the car came to a halt.
"Vouldn't dot knock you shlab-sitet?" murmured Carl wonderingly. "In vone door und oudt der odder! Ach, blitzen, und den some! Aber who vas dot vat shpoke in der tark?"
"Here's where we find out," rejoined Matt, leaping down.
Carl likewise gained the ground. As he did so, the deck of the car, behind the seats, lifted slowly until it lay wide in an upright position.
Then a form slowly rose, a form with a chocolate-colored face, the head crowned with a white turban. Jumping from the boxlike recess in the rear of the car, the form stretched itself and salaamed.
"You surprise', sahib? Ah, ha!"
DESPERATE VILLAINY.
Although Matt and his friends did not know it, yet the course taken by the Red Flier on leaving La Vita Place was watched.
Joe Mings, climbing a tree, kept the car under his eyes. In the distance he saw it leave the road, then he could make out two figures returning on foot to the road and proceeding toward the cliffs. He called down the result of his observations.
"What do you suppose they're up to?" asked Sercomb, with a worried look, as Mings slid back to the ground.
"I pass," replied Harry Packard, one of the most lawless of the quartet; "but it's a fair gamble, Ralph, that they're not up to any good."
"I should say not," said Balt Finn, the driver of the touring-car. "That Ferral is after Mings' hide."
"Well," said Mings sullenly, "I wouldn't have gone through Ferral in Lamy if you hadn't said so, Ralph."
"I'd like to know what their game is," mused Sercomb. "Mings, you and Packard go to the place where they left the car. If you can smash the car some way, they won't be able to go to Lamy until we're ready to leave here."
"A nice jaunt before breakfast!" muttered Packard.
"We can stand it, I reckon," scowled Mings. "Let's take a drink all around and try it, anyhow."
Packard pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swallow of its fiery contents; then he passed the flask to Mings.
"You fellows have got some in the house," said Packard, corking the flask and returning it to his pocket. "Joe and I will take this with us. Maybe we'll need it," and he winked at Mings.
"Be careful what you do to the fellow that stayed with the car," cautioned Sercomb.
"Suppose it's Ferral?"
"Then," returned Sercomb, with a significant look, "be carefulhowyou do what you're going to. You fellows fell down last night."
"I'll not forget in a hurry the thumping that Ferral and the Dutchman gave us," growled Packard.
"And don't you forget, Mings," said Sercomb, "what Ferral will do to you if he gets to Lamy. Smash the car."
Mings and Packard started off briskly toward the place where the Red Flier had been left. The spot was not more than half a mile from La Vita Place.
Ferral, all unconscious of the fact that two of his enemies were approaching, sprawled out in the front seat of the Red Flier and puzzled his brain over the queer situation in which he found himself.
He could make nothing of it, and as time slipped away his brain grew more and more befuddled. He was hoping Matt and Carl might discover something of importance, or, if they did not, that when the Red Flier returned from Lamy with an officer, the law might do something to clear up the mystery in which Uncle Jack had plunged everything at La Vita Place.
A deep quiet reigned in the little grove. A droning of flies was the only sound that disturbed the stillness. The warm air and the silence made Ferral drowsy.
Once he roused up, thinking he heard a sound somewhere around him; then, assuring himself that he was mistaken, he sank back on the front seat and his nodding head bowed forward.
Suddenly, before he could do a thing to protect himself, a quick arm went round his throat from behind, and he felt some one catch his feet from the side of the car. He gave a shout of consternation as his head bent backward and his eyes took in the face that leered above him.
It was the face of Mings!
"Caught!" laughed Mings hoarsely. "Thought you'd shaken us, eh? Well, you were shy a few!"
"Just a few!" tittered the voice of the man on the ground.
"Here's a rope," went on Mings, kicking the coiled riata, which Matt carried in the car, out through the swinging door. "Take it and tie his legs, Harry. I'll hold him. Got a strangle-grip and he can't budge."
As soon as Packard let go his hold, Ferral began to kick and struggle; but Mings was in such a position that he could keep him very easily from getting away.
Packard, although tipsy from the effects of the liquor he and Mings had imbibed on the way from La Vita Place, tied one end of the rope quickly about Ferral's ankles. The free end of the rope was then wound around the seat and Ferral's hands were made fast behind him. In a few minutes he was bound to the seat and absolutely helpless. Mings and Packard, gloating over his predicament, got around in front of the car.
"How do you like that?" asked Packard.
"He likes it," hiccoughed Mings; "you can tell that by the looks of him."
"You're a fine lot of swabs!" exclaimed Ferral contemptuously. "Sercomb ordered me off the place, and I slanted away; now you follow me with your beach-comber tricks. Oh, yes, you're a nice lot! What are you trying to do?"
"Going to smash the car," answered Mings.
"You keep your hands off this car!" cried Ferral, realizing suddenly that he had been caught napping, and that Motor Matt might get into a lot of trouble on account of it.
"Well," grinned Packard, "you just watch us."
"Are you going to Lamy?" demanded Mings.
"That's where I'm going!" declared Ferral resolutely.
"Not to-day you won't; and not in this car. We're going to fix Motor Matt for butting into our plans, and we're going to fix you so you won't get to Lamy and back before we're on the road to Denver. You're cute, but you're not so cute as we are. Oh, no! Is he, Packard?"
"We're the boys!" observed Packard.
They were both partly intoxicated. Naturally lawless, the liquor they had taken had made them more so.
"See here," said Ferral, desperately anxious to save the car, "you've got some of my money, Mings, and I could have you jugged for taking it, but if I'll promise not to get an officer and to let you keep the money, will you leave this car alone? It doesn't belong to Motor Matt, and he's responsible for it. I was left here to watch it——"
"Nice watchman!" sputtered Packard; "fine watchman! Eh, Mings?"
"Dandy watchman!" and Mings laughed loudly. "He didn't hear a sound when I sneaked into the tonneau. I tell you what, Packard!" he exclaimed, as a thought ran suddenly through his befogged brain.
"Well, tell it!" urged Packard.
"Let's send him to Lamy."
"Send him to Lamy?"
"Sure! Let's put him in the road and open the car up! Mebby he'll get to Lamy."
"He'll smash into the rocks, that's what he'll do."
"Well, that'll fix the car. By the time Motor Matt pulls Ferral out of the wreck, I guess he won't feel like getting an officer."
Ferral could hardly believe his ears.
"You scoundrels wouldn't dare do a thing like that!" he cried.
"He says we wouldn't dare, Packard," mumbled Mings.
"He don't know us, eh, Mings?"
"Not—not even acquainted. Let's throw the old benzine-buggy against the rocks, and give Motor Matt a surprise."
"He'll be surprised, all right. Serve him right, too, for meddling with Sercomb's business."
"He's a meddler, that's sure. Dace Perry told me all about him."
"Dace Perry's a blamed good fellow. He's one of our set."
"Can you navigate the car to the road?" asked Packard.
"Navigate a dozen cars! Anything more in the flask?"
"All gone," answered Packard gloomily.
"Well, there's more back at the house."
Mings got into the car and Packard did the cranking. When the car started it nearly ran over Packard.
"Trying to kill me?" shouted Packard, rolling out of the way.
"You're too slow," laughed Mings.
Fumbling awkwardly with the levers and the steering-wheel, Mings managed to get the car into the road and headed for the cliffs.
"Cut off a piece of that rope, Packard," called Mings. "I'll tie the wheel so as to be sure the car goes to Lamy."
"That's right," answered Packard, "you want to be sure."
He took out his knife, slashed a piece from the free end of the rope, and handed it up to Mings. The latter began lashing the wheel.
"Sercomb ought to give us a chromo for this," said Packard, watching Mings as he worked.
"You tell him we ought to have a chromo," returned Mings, with a foolish grin. "Sercomb's a blamed good chap; nicest chap I know."
Meanwhile, Ferral's face had gone white. He was fighting desperately with the ropes, but they held him firmly and he could not free his hands. A sickening sensation ran through him.
Neither Mings nor Packard had a very lucid idea of what they were attempting. They were fair examples of what liquor can do for a person in certain situations.
"Belay!" cried Ferral desperately. "You don't understand what you're doing, you fellows! You've headed me for the cliffs, and——"
"They're big and hard, those cliffs," said Mings, "and you'll hit 'em with quite a jolt. But it'll only smash the car, Ferral, and we had orders to smash the car."
Having finished with the wheel, Mings got on the running-board. Packard cranked up again. Mings threw in the clutch with his hand, pushed on the high gear, and was thrown off as the car jumped ahead.
He collided with Packard, and both tumbled on the ground and rolled over and over. When they had struggled to their feet, the two scoundrels saw something that almost sobered them.
It was the white runabout racing across the level ground in the direction of the road and the flying red car!
But, what was even more strange, Motor Matt was in the driver's seat of the runabout, and beside him was a strange, turbaned figure which neither Packard nor Mings had ever seen before.
On the ground, a long way in the rear of the racing runabout, stood a figure which Packard and Mings recognized as being that of Motor Matt's Dutch chum.