A STOUT HEART AND PLENTY OF HOPE.
Dace Perry was only half an hour in the lead!
Had he been mounted on Motor Matt's two-cylinder, seven-horse-power marvel, this would have meant that, with fearless and skilful riding, he was already in Phœnix; but Perry was on a one-cylinder machine, that would have to be nursed by a proficient rider in order to do even thirty miles an hour.
Matt figured that Perry would do twenty, or twenty-five. In other words, Perry's lead, as Matt reckoned it, was ten or twelve miles. Could theCometreel off a score of miles while Perry was doing the eight or ten that lay between him and the recorder's office?
Reason assured Matt that he had a fighting chance.There was a mile a minute in theCometif Matt cared to let her go the limit and risk his neck.
Notch by notch he opened her out. Why not do a mile a minute? There was less sand just ahead and better ground. Besides, he was working for Chub and Susie, and what good was a fellow who wouldn't risk his neck for his friends?
This was a race for a fortune. It made little difference to Motor Matt that it was a fortune for the McReadys and not for himself that trembled in the balance.
The hills melted away behind the speeding motor-cycle. The rise and fall of the road had little effect on the speed, and the tremendous momentum of one hundred and fifty pounds of steel, backed by a hundred and thirty more of brawn and daring, fairly lifted theCometover the high places.
Ahead of Matt were a horse and rider. The horse was galloping in Matt's direction, but took the roadside at a frightened leap as the motor-cycle sped by.
The horseman shouted and waved an arm. It was Tom Clipperton, the descendant of a noble line of genuine owners of the soil—the Indians. What he said Matt could not hear, and Matt dared not take a hand from the grip-control to wave an answering hail. However, he yelled a greeting, and the cry trailed out behind him and died suddenly in the speed of his flight.
That was not the first time Motor Matt had raced along the Black Cañon road. He had done it once before, but his speed then was not what it was now. That other time theCometwas new to him, but since that he had come to know the machine in every part as he knew his two hands.
Before he fairly realized it, he was at the canal. TheCometseemed to take the bridge at a flying leap, and was off and away through shady lanes of cottonwood-trees.
He passed several wagons and carriages coming toward him. They got out of the way and gave his charging steel wonder a wide berth. Occasionally he had to slow down to pass a vehicle moving toward Phœnix, but not often. The road was wide, and clean, and hard from edge to edge.
Speed and more speed! That was all Matt was thinking of then. The itch to eat up the miles as they had never been devoured before was racing hot through his veins. He would make a record from the hills to Phœnix this time which would stand unequaled for a long time.
He whirred across the second canal. His next bridge would be the one that spanned the town-ditch, and then he would be only a short half-mile from the court-house plaza, and the place where location notices were put on file.
As he struck the last lap of country road and looked away toward the beginning of the angling thoroughfare known as Grand Avenue, he glimpsed a flurry of dust. That was Perry, fanning along on the one-cylinder machine.
Matt was gaining on Perry hand over fist. As the dust blew aside, Matt could see Perry looking back, then turning again and coaxing Penny's wheel to fresh endeavor.
"I've got him," thought Matt exultantly, "and he knows it! He'll begin to understand, one of these days, that crooked work can make lots of trouble, but was never known to pay in the long run."
Perry, no doubt, was greatly astounded at sight of Motor Matt. He had left Matt in the hands of Jacks and Bisbee, and he had left theComettemporarily useless. Small wonder if his brainwasdazed and bewildered by the sight of that hurricane closing in on him from the rear.
If Chub and Clip had any fault to find with Matt, it was because they thought him too "easy." This was because he had a habit of looking for the good qualities in a fellow, rather than for the bad ones. Perry, according to Matt, would have been all right if he hadn't got a wrong start; and Matt had even hinted to Chub that there might be something good even in that scheming follower of fortune's wheel, Dirk Hawley.
Chub and Clip couldn't understand this kind of talk. They realized that it didn't show weakness, for they had sampled Matt's fiber too many times not to know his underlying strength of character. So they laid it up to eccentricity, and called it a hobby. Matt, however, called it a "principle"—and he had been known to fight like a wildcat for his "principles."
Matt's mind was resting easy. He felt that the race was as good as won, that he would soon pass Perry, reach the court-house, and have the McReady location on file a good two minutes before Perry could reach the plaza.
And just at that moment, when the whole matter of the McReady "strike" was looking its brightest, the unexpected happened again and changed the complexion of affairs.
Matt was close to Perry—not more than a couple of hundred feet behind him, and still gaining rapidly—when he saw a white horse, ridden by a well-dressed young woman, riding toward them from the direction of Grand Avenue.
The horse was mettlesome and high-spirited, and the sight of Perry's motor-cycle sent the animal leaping toward the roadside. The girl was a good rider—Matt could see that at a glance—but the horse was giving her all she could manage.
Perry's proper move, in such a case, would have been to slow down—even to stop, if the actions of the horse and the safety of the rider seemed to demand it.
But Perry was thinking only of the recorder's office and never slackened pace.
The white horse plunged against the fence and reared high in the air. The girl, however, clung pluckily to the saddle.
Matt, completely absorbed in the girl's peril, lessened his speed and watched the progress of events. Then, with his heart in his throat, he shut off the gasoline and clamped on the brake.
One of the reins had snapped apart during the girl's frantic tugging at the bit. Entirely out of control, the frenzied animal flung off down the road, the piece of rein dangling from the bit-ring and the girl clinging desperately to the saddle. Her hat was lost and her yellow hair was streaming out behind her.
Matt's first impulse had been to leave his machine and rush to the girl's assistance, but before he could pull his feet from the toe-clips, the horse was past him and careering along on its wild course.
There are times when, in the space of a lightning-flash, a person's mind will deal with every conceivable phase of a situation. It was like that with Matt as the white horse and helpless rider went tearing past him.
Unless something was done to stop the runaway animal, the girl would probably be thrown and perhaps killed. Against what he might do for the girl, Matt, for the fraction of an instant, balanced his duty to the McReadys. Then he used the pedals, turned on the gasoline, and switched on the spark. But instead of going on to Phœnix and the recorder's office, he turned theCometand raced after the girl.
MATT WINS—AND LOSES.
Motor Matt had seven horses in the twin-cylinders to pit against that one frantic animal that was slashing along the road toward the canal. There was but one thought in his mind, and that was to spur the seven horses into a speed that could overtake the one before it reached the bridge and the water.
He had been racing for a fortune before, but it was for a human life now. With keen, steady eyes he gaged the chances. The white horse was thundering along in the middle of the road, with the scrap of rein dangling on the left side of the bit. He aimed theCometto bring up on the left side of the frightened beast.
He was half a minute, perhaps, in coming alongside the horse, and during that brief interval he had a brief glimpse of the thrashing, steel-shod heels. A heart's beat later he was abreast of the girl and saw her white, fear-drawn face looking down at him. In another breath he was close to the horse's head.
The time had come when Matt was to put forth his best effort, and win or lose at a single throw of the die. If the horse got away from him—— But he was not thinking of that; he was thinking how he could best hold the animal and bring him to a stop.
The girl, far gone with fright, was swaying dangerously in the saddle.
"Steady!" cried Motor Matt, reaching for the head of the runaway horse.
His outstretched hand caught the piece of flying rein. It was his right hand he had to use, and he doubled the rein about the palm twice. Then a twist of the left handle-bar caused theCometto slow down, and he pulled back on the bit.
The frenzied horse, however, was not to be stopped so easily. Lurching ahead with a fresh leap, he dragged Matt from the machine, and carried him, a dead weight, for a dozen yards.
Matt hung like grim death to the piece of rein, and his hundred and thirty pounds finally brought the horse to a standstill. As Matt floundered to his feet, the girl toppled into his arms—and the horse jerked loose and went on.
But Matt was not concerned about the horse. The girl was saved, and that was enough for him.
Dizzy and weak, he staggered with her to the roadside and laid her down beside an irrigation-ditch. Hearing some one behind him, he turned and saw a buckboard containing a man and woman. The man had halted the rig, and was handing the reins to the woman. The woman was leaning from the seat and peering anxiously at Matt and the girl over the side of the vehicle. The man sprang down and hurried toward Matt.
"Finest thing I ever saw!" declared the man. "That girl might have been killed if it hadn't been for you. Say, you're a plucky piece, and——" The man stopped and stared. "Why, hello!" he went on. "You're Motor Matt, the lad that won the bicycle-race at the park a few days ago. Say, Malindy," he called to the woman, "this is Motor Matt. You've heard about him. He's the boy that won the race from O'Day, of Prescott."
"The young woman, Silas!" returned the woman. "Was she hurt?"
"She's only fainted, I think," said Matt.
"It's a wonder the fellow on that other machine wouldn't stop," growled the man. "If he'd acted like he'd ought to, the horse wouldn't have run off with the girl. What was the matter with him?"
"We were racing for the recorder's office," explained Matt. "We've both got notices to file, and the one that gets there first——"
"Oh, ho! That's it, hey? And you thought more of saving the girl than you did of beating him! Here, shake! It's sort of refreshing to meet a boy like you. If your machine isn't busted, you hike right along, and maybe you'll beat the other chap yet. We'll take careof the girl, and see that she gets where she belongs in town. Hitch the horses, Malindy," he added to the woman, "and come here and help."
Matt started off, limping as he went.
"Are you hurt?" shouted the man.
"Jolted up a little, that's all," answered Matt, stopping to pick up his cap.
He was worrying about theComet. Had he smashed it when the horse jerked him out of the saddle?
By what seemed like a miracle, the motor-cycle had escaped injury. The jar of its fall had closed the gasoline shut-off, and he picked the machine out of the dust and once more got into the seat.
Was there any use in going on to the court-house, he was asking himself. He felt more like going to his boarding-house and hunting for a bottle of arnica.
Remembering that he had told Chub he wouldn't consider himself beaten until the recorder had told him Perry had already filed Jacks' location notice, he set the motor going and wheeled rapidly on toward Grand Avenue.
He was about five minutes getting to the court-house. While he was bracing the motor-cycle up against the steps at the entrance, Perry came out of the building, followed by Dirk Hawley.
"Here's King," laughed Perry, "just a little bit late."
"Just a little," chuckled Hawley. "It won't do you any good to butt in here, King."
"How do you know what I'm doing here?" demanded Matt.
"Oh, I'm a pretty fair guesser. Run along home, an' tell the McReadys their little scheme wouldn't work."
Matt, however, climbed doggedly up the steps, entered the corridor, and made for the place where location notices were filed.
"Was a location notice filed here just now for Jacks and Hawley?" he asked of the clerk.
"Right you are; just about two minutes ago."
"Much obliged," said Matt. "That's all."
He went out and got on his machine, but instead of steering for Mrs. Spooner's, he made for Chub McReady's. Susie was there, and he would tell her the whole story. If he hadn't stopped to chase that runaway horse, he would have been able to beat Perry to the court-house and so save a fortune for his friends. They had to be told how he had failed and why.
Welcome Perkins was smoking a pipe on the porch as Matt rode up. He jumped excitedly to his feet when he saw who was coming.
"Howdy, pard!" he called. "Did you an' Chub do the trick? Did ye beat out them villains, Jacks an' Hawley? Snakes alive, Matt, don't say ye didn't! From the looks o' yer face, I'm argyin' ye've had bad luck. Oh, ye ort to hev took me! Ye ort to hev let me take keer o' this."
Hearing Welcome's loud talk, Susie came out on the porch.
"Why, Matt!" she exclaimed. "Where's Mark? Didn't he come with you?"
Matt shook his head as he climbed up the steps.
"What's the matter with ye?" demanded Welcome. "I don't reckon I ever seen ye quite so cut up afore, Matt. Somethin' must hev gone a hull lot crossways to makeyoupull sich a face."
"Nothing has happened to Mark, has there, Matt?" queried Susie anxiously.
"A good many things have happened to both of us, Susie, since we left here," said Matt; "but Chub's all right."
"You're kind of pale, Matt," went on Susie solicitously. "Here, take this chair."
"What makes ye limp?" queried Welcome. "Hawley been roughin' things up with ye? Shade o' Gallopin' Dick! I never felt so all-fired worked up about anythin' as I do about that there 'strike' o' Jim's. Tell me right out, Matt, hev ye saved the claim?"
"No," answered Matt heavily, as he sank into the chair, "we've lost out—and it's my fault."
There followed a short silence, Welcome muttering and twisting at his mustache, Susie peering keenly at Matt's pale face, and Matt staring at the cottonwood-trees down by the town canal.
Susie was the first to speak. Stepping quietly to Matt's side, she laid a small hand on his shoulder.
"You've lost out, Matt," said she, "and if it's your fault, as you say, then there's a good reasonwhyyou lost out. Money isn't everything in this world."
"Mebby not," spoke up Welcome dryly, "but it sartinly buys a lot o grub, an' clothes, an' critter comforts. The McReadys could stand a few o' them same comforts, I reckon. Sometimes, gal, when I see how ye're pinchin' along, an' Chub is hampered fer money to git things to do his inventin' with, I vow I can't hardly keep from hikin' fer the hills an holdin' up a few stages. It ain't right, I know, but the ole lawless feelin' bubbles up mighty strong, oncet in a while. If you an' Chub had waited an' asked fer my advice afore racin' off like ye done, Matt, mebby ye'd be hevin' a diff'rent story ter tell. Howsumever, tell the details. Ye lost, an' the biggest part o' the shock is over. The McReadys'll continner ter struggle along on bacon an' spuds, instid, as I had fondly hoped, bein' promoted to canned stuff. What ye hangin' fire fer, Matt? Go on an'——"
"You don't stop talking long enough to give him a chance, Welcome," said Susie.
"That's right," snorted Welcome; "blameme! Blame the ole ex-pirate o' the plains fer every bloomin' thing that happens. I'm expectin' ye'll be sayin' next that it's my fault kase Matt an Chub couldn't beat out Jacksan' Hawley. Don't fergit, young lady, I'm grub-staked fer the hills, an'——"
"Dry up!" cried Matt, and he said it so suddenly, and in such a tone that the old man keeled over against one of the porch-posts. Matt smiled a little. "You're doing all the talking, Welcome," he added, "and not saying anything, and here I sit with something to say and not able to get a word in edgeways."
"Git in yer word," snapped Welcome, stamping his wooden pin on the porch, "git in a dozen words, or a millyun of 'em. 'Pears like ye kintalka heap even if ye can'tdoanythin'."
Welcome glared, began filling his pipe, and sat down on the top step of the porch. Before Matt could begin, Tom Clipperton hurried in at the gate and ran along the walk and up the steps. He was covered with dust, and was plainly just in from a hard, trying ride, but there was a glow in his black eyes as he reached over and grabbed Matt's hand.
"Great! Everybody's talking about it. I'm proud of you."
"Somethin' more we can't understand," growled Welcome. "What's great? What's everybody talkin' about? Where'd you come from, anyway?"
"Matt was racing for town with Perry," went on Clipperton. "Perry had Penny's motor-cycle. Matt had theComet. Matt was overhauling Perry at every jump. He'd have beat him in and filed the McReady location before Perry filed Jacks' and Hawley's. But Matt stopped to catch a horse that was running away with a girl. Perry's machine scared the horse. Catchhimstopping! That's why Motor Matt lost out. Claim or no claim, everybody's proud of Matt."
"Did you dothat, Matt?" asked Susie, a soft light in her wide, brown eyes as she looked at him.
"Why, yes," said Matt. "I couldn't get out of it."
"I'm proud of you, too," said Susie quietly. "What you did was worth a dozen claims."
"Money's money," growled old Welcome. "I ain't got no use fer dad-binged sentiment when it's so hard fer the McReadys to scrub along."
"There's more to it," said Clipperton. "I've got something else to tell."
"What's that, Clip?" queried Matt.
"The girl you saved was Edith Hawley. Dirk Hawley's daughter."
Matt sank back in his chair, dumfounded.
A QUEER TANGLE.
"Waal, I'm stumped!" snorted Welcome. "Matt stops his race ter save Dirk Hawley's gal, an' Dirk Hawley wins a bonanzer mine bekase o' it. Looks to me like a put-up job. Mebby the gal was bein' run away with a-purpose."
"Welcome!" reproved Susie sharply.
"That's right," whimpered the old man. "Jump onter me. Anyways, you know Dirk Hawley wouldn't be above doin' of a thing like that."
"They say Edith Hawley is a fine girl," said Susie, "and just as different from her father as can be. I've heard that Hawley fairly worships her, and it's nonsense to think he'd let her risk her life to keep Matt from beating Perry to the recorder's office. But it's a queer tangle, isn't it, Matt?" she added, turning to her brother's chum.
"Mighty queer," answered Matt. "I'd have stopped and helped the girl, just the same, even if I had known who she was."
"Of course you would!" declared Susie.
"You must have made a fast ride into town, Clip," said Matt.
"Hit a high place, now and then," answered Clip. "You didn't hit any."
"Why did you leave town?"
"Saw Perry's chum, Ratty Spangler. He told me where Perry had gone. Then I got a horse and started out early this morning. Didn't know what I could do, but I wanted to do something. After you passed me on the road I tore in behind you. A good ways behind," Clip added. "Left my horse at the corral and hustled straight for here. It was the corral boss who told me what you'd done."
"Susie an' me hev been waitin' fer quite a spell to hear what Matt done," complained Welcome. "We got a right to know, seems like."
"Wait till I get dinner," said Susie, "then we can talk while we eat."
"Prime idea," agreed Matt. "I was too busy to eat breakfast, and Chub and I had a mighty slim supper last night."
"I'll hurry as fast as I can," said Susie, starting into the house. "You're to stay, Clip."
The loss of a fortune hadn't seemed to make much of an impression on Susie. On the contrary, she seemed pleased to think that Matt had turned aside from the race with Perry to stop the runaway horse and save Edith Hawley.
Clip went into the house after a bandage and a bottle of arnica, and proceeded to take care of one of Matt's shins, which had been badly skinned when he was jerked from the motor-cycle.
Clip was a master-hand at anything of this sort, and, besides, inherited from his Indian forefathers the keen eye and subtle sense that go to make a born tracker, whether in the woods, or on mountain and plain.
"Hawley an' Perry hev been purty thick," mused Welcome,while the bandaging was going on, "an' I'm kinder sorter wonderin' what Hawley'll say when he l'arns it was Perry as skeered his darter's hoss."
"Perry did a big thing for Hawley by winning that race," said Clip. "Hawley's all for money, no matter how it's made. He'll forget about Perry's scaring the horse."
"An' only to think it was Hawley's gal got between the McReadys an' a fortun'," groaned Welcome. "I shore won't sleep nights thinkin' about it. It's goin' to ha'nt me. Mebey it'll drive me into the hills fer good an' all."
"If Delray hadn't come out of the house to talk with me," said Clip, "Perry wouldn't have got away from the Bluebell. He went like a streak when he came. Couldn't either of us stop him."
"Funny how things turn out sometimes," mused Matt.
"Why don't you come back to school, Matt?" asked Clip, with his usual abruptness in jumping from one subject to another. "Finish out the term, I mean, before you go to Denver. You've got ten friends there to Perry's one."
A tinge of sadness crossed Matt's face.
"I haven't any folks that I know of, Clip," said he, "and I'm up against a financial stringency. I'm going to Denver and get something to do."
"Short on folks myself," grunted Clip. "And about as short on money. What you going to do there?"
"I think I'll get into the automobile business—driving a car, or something like that. I've got to be among the motors, Clip, in order to be happy."
"I'll buy Perry's motor-cycle and go with you. Never had a friend like Motor Matt. Don't want to let you get away."
Clipperton was as sudden in his resolutions as he was in his talk. Matt lifted his eyes quickly, and there was that in Clipperton's look which led him to reach over and grip his hand.
"We'd hook up like a house afire, Clip," said Matt heartily, "but you'd better think it over."
"I've got my way to make, same as you. Let me hitch my string to your kite. Maybe I can help. Don't have to think it over. You know they haven't ever made it very happy for me here," said Clipperton, his eyes flashing and chest heaving with the indignation that filled his soul.
At that moment, Susie came to the door and announced dinner. While they were eating, Matt struck into the experiences that had fallen to him and Chub. Beginning with the trouble caused by the freighter at the Bluebell Mine, he followed on down to the point where he had stopped the runaway horse. That incident he glided over, and finished by telling of his encounter with Hawley and Perry on the court-house steps. As he very well knew would be the case, Susie began at once to worry about her father. Welcome pushed away from the table, leaving his dinner half-eaten.
"It's up to me," said he excitedly. "I knowed it u'd come. I'll git out ole Lucretia Borgia an' hike fer the mountings immediate. Jim McReady's my pard, an' if a hair o' his head has been teched, I'll mow down Jacks, an' Bisbee, an' Hawley an' everybody else that's had a hand in his undoin'. Everybody listen to me! It's Eagle-eye Perkins, the Terror o' the Plains, what's talkin'. Don't grieve, gal," he added, turning to Susie, "I'll go out there an' I'll bring Jim back, or I'll leave my ole carkiss among the rocks."
Welcome thumped his chest—and immediately began to cough.
"Where's Lucretia Borgia, gal?" he demanded. "I been missin' 'er fer a day or two."
"Lucretia Borgia" was the high-sounding and significant name Welcome had bestowed upon an ancient revolver. The weapon had not been discharged in a dozen years, and owing to its rusty condition firing it had apparently ceased to become a possibility.
"I—I threw it down the cistern, Welcome," said Susie. "The old trinket was harmless enough, but I was afraid it would get you into trouble."
Welcome stared.
"Trinket!" he mumbled. "Throwed it down the cistern! Lucretia Borgia, with all them tur'ble recordin' notches on the handle! This here's the last straw! I'm goin', right now, an' with nothin' on me no more'n a jack-knife with a busted blade! But I'll git Jim. He's my pard, he is, an' he's allers treated mewhite."
Welcome grabbed his hat and started for the door. Just as he reached it, a tall man with grayish hair and beard stepped through and collided with him.
"Father!" screamed Susie.
"Jim!" whooped Welcome. "Waal, snakes alive! We was jest thinkin' ye'd never git back till ole Welcome went out an' brought ye in!"
"Don't overlook me," piped the voice of Chub, as he pushed through the door behind his father. "Howdy, Matt! I knew you were here when I saw theCometout in front. Clip, too! Well, well, here's a gatherin' of the faithful, an' no mistake."
THE LAST SURPRISE.
Mr. McReady and Chub could not have arrived at a more fitting moment. At no time had Matt done very much worrying on account of McReady, senior, for he had all along believed that the prospector was in noparticular danger from Jacks and Bisbee. Those two worthies would go as far as they dared, but they would stop short of any desperate work. Hawley would have seen to that, even if Jacks and Bisbee had allowed their ardor to run away with their judgment.
After the prospector had kissed Susie and shaken hands with Matt and Clip, two more plates were put on the table, and for half an hour those present listened to what had happened to the head of the McReady family.
"I've had a tough time of it, and no mistake," said the prospector. "For the biggest part of my trip it was just the same old scramble through the hills, gopherin' around and horn-spooning nothing that had a speck of color. I was near discouraged, thinking how old a man I was getting to be, and how my family was drifting along and kicking the wolf off the door-step every morning. I started for home, allowing I'd get some kind of a job in town, and chance brought me along that old pack-trail. Knowing about the spring under the peak with the white cross, I went there to camp for the night—and then through sheer accident I struck that blow-out of white quartz with the rock just glittering with yellow specks. It took me half of the next day to locate the lode, and while I was pilin' the monuments I looked up and saw that villain, Jacks.
"I had been running across Jacks frequently, during the trip, and it began to dawn upon me that seeing him so much wasn't altogether a coincidence. Everybody knows that Dirk Hawley grub-stakes him, although why Jacks wanted to trail after such an unsuccessful prospector as I am was a mystery. However, there he was, just at the time I had made my 'strike,' pushing toward me threateningly. He said that it was his claim, and that I had no business piling my monuments on it. I asked him why he hadn't piled his own monuments on the claim, if it was his. He hadn't anything to say to that, but tried to run me off the ground.
"Well, instead of his running me off he got run off himself, and I could see him hanging around at a safe distance, keeping an eye on me. When I got ready to put up my location notice, I was thunderstruck to find that I had lost my bundle of blanks. Jacks, no doubt, had blanks, for they're a prime part of every prospector's equipment, but of course I couldn't expect him to let me have a couple; and if I left the claim and tried to get any, Jacks could tack up a location notice of his own and make a run to Phœnix with a duplicate.
"Chub was the boy I thought of to get me out of that fix, but I didn't even think of him as a possibility until Pedro Morales came along the pack-trail with a couple of burros loaded with mesquit and palo-verde. I stopped the Mexican and made him wait while I took the wrapper off of some candles and wrote that letter; then, scratching out the original address on an old envelope, I wrote Chub's name over it, told Morales where to go to find the boy, and gave him some money and sent him on.
"Then I waited, and watched, and hoped, all the time keeping as wary an eye on Jacks as he was holding on me. I never left the claim once, and I had a good-sized club of ironwood which I was ready to use on the slightest provocation.
"Well, the days passed and Chub didn't come. I was hoping Jacks might go away for a spell and give me a chance to slip over to the Bluebell and flash a wireless message to Phœnix, but the rascal seemed glued to the spot. Finally, one day, Jacks walked over with a white flag. He said he wanted to see if we couldn't compromise, as he called it. I kept my club handy and watched him like a cat as we talked. But the trouble was I didn't do any looking behind me. First thing I knew I was grabbed around the arms from the rear, then Jacks jumped forward, and I found myself in the hands of two men, one of them being Bisbee. Hawley had sent Bisbee out to help Jacks get the better of me. Too late I realized how I had been trapped, but there was nothing I could do.
"The scoundrels tied me hand and foot, loaded me onto Jacks' burro, and took me two miles away to the old Santa Maria shaft. The Santa Maria was abandoned years ago, and Jacks and Bisbee lowered me down to the bottom of the shaft, left a little food and water, and went away. The old ladders had long since decayed and fallen away, so I couldn't have been more of a prisoner if I had found myself behind bars and stone walls. Chub can tell you the rest."
"You bet I can," put in Chub. "If it hadn't been for Matt's plucky getaway from that hole in the rocks, it's a cinch dad would probably have been down in the old shaft yet. When you gave that husky yell, Matt, Jacks and Bisbee thought we had both got away. They rushed off after you, and all I had to do was to hike out. I had time to take Old Baldy, and I set out on a night search for the Santa Maria, as you told me to do. I had a notion where the old mine was, although I didn't know exactly, an' of course night was a bad time to find anything I was so hazy about. But sure I had luck in my jeans. I stumbled on a camp of Mexican wood-cutters, and one of 'em took me to the Santa Maria. I can tell you I was mightily relieved when dad answered me from down in the shaft and said he was all right. The wood-cutter got a rope and we snaked dad out in a brace of shakes. Then we began to scratch gravel for the Bluebell, gettin' there about half an hour after you had left, Matt.
"'Course dad an' me felt good when Del told us how he had held Perry a prisoner all night, an' how he had only got away half an hour ahead of you. Still, I wasn't indulgin' in any extra high hopes, and neither was dad.We just figured on coming into Phœnix, taking turn about riding the horse you had left at the Bluebell, when, just as though we had planned it, along came Major Woolford in his automobile. He had been out to the Montezuma Mine, and was on his way to town. He brought us in, and when we got here we heard how you came so near skinning Perry out of that race, and how you lost by side-stepping to grab a runaway horse and save Edith Hawley from bein' killed, or hurt."
Chub paused. Mr. McReady, with glowing eyes, leaned toward Matt.
"That was nobly done, my boy!" he cried.
Susie's eyes kindled.
"I knew you'd say that, dad," she said happily.
"You couldn't expect anythin' else of Motor Matt," chimed in Chub. "That's his style, every time an' all the time. He's all to the good!"
Matt was deeply touched. All the McReadys, notwithstanding the fact that his act in saving the girl had caused them to lose a chance at fortune which might never again come their way, approved heartily the course he had taken. The McReadys were generous and whole-souled; and, although they were in bitter need of a "strike," yet they were great-spirited enough to place humanity above the sordid question of mere money.
"Dad-binged if I kin feel like you do," croaked Welcome Perkins dismally. "It ain't likely, Jim, ye'll ever git another chanst at a 'strike,' an' I hate to think ye got juggled out o' this in any sich a way."
The prospector laughed.
"Why, old friend," said he, "it may be a good thing. I'd have to do development work, you know, then hunt around for capital to put up a mill, and I would be loading up with lots of care and worry. Now, however, I've made up my mind to get something to do right here in Phœnix, so I can be with you, and Susie, and Chub right along. I'm getting to be pretty old for knocking around the hills."
There was an undernote of wistfulness back of McReady's words that sent a pang to Motor Matt's heart. A moderate fortune would have enabled the prospector to pass his last days in comfort and give Chub and Susie a college education. Matt's conscience didn't reprove him for what he had done, but he couldn't help looking at the other side of the picture.
McReady pushed away from the table, put his arms around Susie and Chub, and started for the front room.
"Let's all go out on the porch," said he. "The sun is bright, the sky is fair, and it's easy to be happy if you only make up your mind to be thankful for all you've got. I'd rather be in my shoes, this minute, than in Jacks', or Hawley's."
"Or Perry's," added Chub. "I wonder what that fellow thinks of himself?"
"If that there Pedro Morales had had a leetle more sense," grumbled old Welcome, "he'd a-handed that letter over to Chub instid o' to Perry. Consarn them Mexicans, anyways. If ye told him where to go to find Chub, Jim, why didn't he go?"
"Probably he didn't understand the directions," answered McReady. "Forget it all, Welcome. Come out on the porch and we'll have a smoke. This way, Matt, you and Clip."
The day couldn't have been finer. In the vicinity of Phœnix they say they have three hundred and sixty cloudless days out of every year, and perpetual spring is in the air.
A slight breeze ruffled the branches of the cotton-woods, down by the canal, birds were twittering and singing, and the world seemed a pretty good place to live in, despite the fact that mining-claims were temporarily at a discount.
Hardly had the little party seated themselves on the porch when the chugging of an automobile came to their ears. A car was coming from the direction of town, and was at that moment crossing the bridge.
"Snakes alive!" chattered Welcome, staring. "I ain't got my glasses on, but 'pears to me like that's Dirk Hawley's ottermobill."
"That's what it is," answered Chub, breathing hard. "He's sailin' by in all kinds o' style, he and his daughter. There's a little more money added to the pile he's got in the bank, an' I hope he's satisfied."
"Tainted money, at that," growled Clip. "That last deal was the crookedest he ever worked. Where's Perry? He ought to be along."
Chub was mistaken. Dirk Hawley and his daughter were not going to "sail by." To the astonishment of all on the porch, the resplendent touring-car came to a halt in front of the McReady gate.
"They needn't call here," muttered Chub. "Come to rub it in, I suppose."
"Or to talk it over," said McReady.
"I'll go fish Lucretia Borgia out o' the cistern, that's what I'll do," flared Welcome. "Mebby I'll need 'er yet."
"Stay right where you are, old friend," cautioned McReady. "I'm ready to talk with Hawley, if that's what he's here for."
Dirk Hawley got out of the car and helped his daughter down; then the two of them came through the gate and walked toward the group on the porch.
MOTOR MATT'S TRIUMPH.
Edith Hawley was a stunningly pretty girl. There was little of her father's looks about her, however, and it was quite clear that she got most of her characterfrom her mother's side of the house. She was a little pale, but otherwise showed no bad effects of the ordeal through which she had passed earlier in the day.
All those on the porch got up as the two callers drew near the steps—that is, all except Welcome Perkins. The old ex-buccaneer of the plains just sat where he was and glared.
"Excuse me for buttin' in here," said Hawley, "but my daughter's got a little business with King." He turned to the girl. "Fire away, Edie," he added.
"Which is Mr. King?" queried the girl, in a low voice.
Matt stepped away from the others and came down the steps.
"I saw you when you stopped the horse," Edith Hawley went on, fixing her hazel eyes on Matt's face, "but I couldn't remember much, then. I want to thank you. Father brought me here so that I could. I want you to understand how grateful I am."
She put out her hand timidly and Matt took it cordially.
"That's all right, Miss Hawley," said he, flushing. "What I did for you I would have done for anybody caught in the same way."
"I believe that," she returned significantly. "Even if you had known who I was it wouldn't have made any difference."
"Not a particle," answered Matt.
"Isn't there something my father can do for you?" she asked.
Matt shook his head.
"Well," she went on, "there's something I'm going to do for you." She turned. "Father——"
"Wait a minute, Edie," interrupted Hawley. "Let me tell all of you," and he faced those on the porch, "just how I stand in the matter of that minin'-claim. It won't take more'n a minute, and it may save a lot of hard feelin's. I've been grub-stakin' Jacks for two or three years, and he ain't never yet found anythin' but country rock. I was gettin' tired o' puttin' up good money, an' the last time he started out I told him he'd got to find somethin' or we'd split up our partnership. I reckon that made him rather too keen for a strike, so that he didn't care much how he made it just so he delivered the goods.
"Well, when Dace Perry came to me t'other day an' says he's found a letter concernin' me an' Jacks, of course I read it; an', havin' grub-staked Jacks, quite naturally I took his side. I sent Bisbee out to help Jacks keep what was rightfully his an' mine, an' later I sent Perry out on a horse to find out what they were doin' an' report.
"Well, Perry comes in with a location notice, an' says he had to ride like Sam Hill to get ahead o' Matt King, who was hustling for town with a notice o' McReady's. That's all Perry told me. Never a word, mind ye, about scarin' Edie's horse an' makin' it run away, nary a word about what Matt King done to stop the horse—all he said was what I'm tellin' ye.
"By and by, Edie was brought home by a man I know, who had seen the runaway from start to finish. He told me the whole of it."
Dirk Hawley's coarse, heavy face was flushed. His voice shook a little as he went on.
"Edie's goin' to school in 'Frisco, an' she come out here to make her father a short visit. There ain't anythin' I wouldn't do for her, an' about the first thing I did after she struck town was to buy Ajax, that white riding-horse. She knows how to ride, Edie does—none better—but the way Perry scared the horse didn't leave Edie much of a chance. If King hadn't taken after Ajax, I—I——"
Hawley snapped his heavy lower jaw and remained silent for a moment.
"Well," he finished, "I gave Perry three hours to get out of town an' to go back to Denver where he belongs. He needs lookin' after, an' his father's the one to do it. I know King won't let me do anythin' for him, but I reckon he won't balk on takin' a little somethin' from Edie."
"I don't want any of your money, Mr. Hawley," began Matt, "if that's what——"
"Sure you don't," broke in the gambler grimly, "you don't want any o' my money an' you're not goin' to get any." He pulled a folded paper from his pocket. "I'd have done this sooner," he went on, "only I had to send my automobile out after Jacks. It was necessary for him to sign the paper along with me."
He gave the document to Edith, and she turned and placed the paper in Matt's hand.
"It's a quitclaim deed to that mine," she said, "and it's made out to James McReady. It's yours, Mr. King, because you won it. If you hadn't stopped to save me, you'd have got to the recorder's office first. It isn't much to do for the service you rendered me, but I'm sure you wouldn't let us do any more. Good-by!"
She held out her hand again. After Matt had clasped the small palm for the second time, she turned, took her father's arm, and they went back to the automobile.
In astonishment the group on the porch watched the car turn in the road and disappear in the direction of town.
"Waal, waal!" gulped Welcome Perkins. "Somebody please ter pinch me, so's I kin wake up. It must be a dream—can't be nothin' else. Dirk Hawley! Actin' like that!"
Welcome picked up his wooden pin and looked hard at the brass tip on the end of it.
Chub was also staggered.
"Get next that he didn't say anything about that underhand work," he commented, "how he had the wireless instruments smashed, and all that."
"He's keeping such things from his daughter," said Susie. "Can you blame him for that?"
"Let him be straight, then," put in Clip. "If he wants the girl to think he's honest and respectable, let him act the part. It's the easiest way."
"It was the gal as done it," grinned Welcome. "Dirk Hawley never'd hev sashayed over here an' give up that quitclaim o' his own free will an' accord. Not him!"
"You don't know about that, Welcome," said Matt. "It isn't always wise to be so quick with your snap judgments."
"And Perry's gone," went on Clip, scowling. "Hawley ordered him out of town. He had to go. And I had no chance to settle our account. Some day we'll meet again. Those of my race do not forget easily. It will keep."
"Perry owes Hawley a heap of plunks, I've heard," put in Chub. "Probably Perry had to hike or face a whole lot of trouble."
Matt stepped over to the prospector and gave him the quitclaim deed.
"That 'strike' of yours has made you a good deal of trouble, Mr. McReady," said he, "but I don't think we have any of us got any kick coming on the way the business has turned out. I hope the claim will make a bonanza mine, and that the McReadys will have more money than they can spend."
"Hip, hip, hurroo!" wheezed Welcome. "Canned stuff—that's what the McReadys lives on fer all the rest o' their days."
"Canned stuff"—plenty of it—was Welcome's idea of luxury.
McReady, as he took the quitclaim deed, gripped Motor Matt's hand.
"Matt," said he, with feeling, "but for you, this would never have come about. It was a big day for the McReadys when Chub chummed up with you, my boy. You ought to share in this good luck; by every law of right and justice, you're entitled to an interest in the 'strike.'"
Matt shook his head.
"It's a family affair," said he, "and you couldn't make me take even a piece of quartz from the 'blow-out.'"
"That's Matt King for you," observed Tom Clipperton gruffly, edging around until he stood at Matt's side. "True to his friends. That's why he has made a hit with me."
Clipperton, on his own account, knew what it was to have Motor Matt for a friend.
"We're going to Denver," Clipperton went on. "If Chub don't buy Penny's motor-cycle, I'll buy it myself."
"I've got to hunt up that wheel," murmured Chub, who appeared to be a bit dazed. "Mebby I'll have to pay for the old terror without getting it. And there's Old Baldy, an' Perry's horse out at the Bluebell. Wish I could call up Delray by wireless and tell him all about this. Matt, you're the best pal in the world. Don't I wish I could go to Denver with you. But it's me to the woods—or school."
Chub jumped for Matt and grabbed his hand.
"An' I'm wonderin'," said old Welcome plaintively, stumping forward along the porch, "if ye'll let a pore ole reformed road-agent grip yer honest pa'm, Matt? I've shore made some mistakes, an' among 'em I thought ridin' that benzine go-devil o' Penny's was about the wust; but I've changed my mind. If it hadn't been fer me makin' Hawley drap on the bridge like I done, that there letter wouldn't never hev been picked up by Matt, an' Hawley an' Perry would hev had things their own way. Shucks! I'm in on this rejoicin' some myself. Ain't I now, honest Injun?"
"You are, Welcome," declared Matt heartily; "if you hadn't been so bull-headed, and had found out how to stop the motor-cycle as well as to start it, that letter wouldn't have been picked up."
"Bull-headed!" demurred Welcome. "H'm! You hand out a word now an' ag'in, that kinder jars. Anyhow, I'm proposin' three cheers fer Motor Matt. Next ter the ole ex-pirate, he done more'n anybody else to save the claim. Let 'er go, now. Jine in hearty, all you McReadys! Hip, hip——"
They made a good deal of noise for a small crowd, and it's safe to say that Motor Matt was the happiest one in the lot.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (3) WILL CONTAIN
Motor Matt's "Century" Run
OR,
THE GOVERNOR'S COURIER.
Welcome Takes a Sudden Drop—A Queer Situation—"Rags"—A Dangerous Mission—The Red Roadster—Surmounting the Difficulty—Smoke Signals—On the Divide—A Ruse that Won—At Potter's Gap—Joe Bascomb—Bolivar Turns Up—The Red Roadster Again—On to Phœnix—The End of the Mystery—Matt Reports to the Governor.
Welcome Takes a Sudden Drop—A Queer Situation—"Rags"—A Dangerous Mission—The Red Roadster—Surmounting the Difficulty—Smoke Signals—On the Divide—A Ruse that Won—At Potter's Gap—Joe Bascomb—Bolivar Turns Up—The Red Roadster Again—On to Phœnix—The End of the Mystery—Matt Reports to the Governor.
NEW YORK, March 6, 1909.
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A low, heavy mutter of thunder came booming through the hot, still air, and Fred Kinnersly looked up sharply from the potatoes he was peeling for his solitary supper. "Another storm!" he growled. "Two already to-day, and now a third. This is beyond a joke."
He dropped his knife, and walked outside, onto the veranda of the little two-roomed shack.
A huge blue-black cloud with hard, shell-like edges was rising over the pines in the northwest, and once again the air quivered and a spark of electric fire lit the heart of the great mountain of whirling vapor.
"Worst rains I've ever known," muttered Fred, "and this is my fifth summer down south. We'll have the mine flooded if this goes on, and all those niggers out of work." He paused; then: "Poor old Sam," he smiled. "What an awful ducking he'll get coming home! Well, thank goodness to-morrow's Saturday. This steamy heat is the very deuce to work in, and I'll be glad of the lay-off on Sunday.
He was turning to go back into the house, when the thud of hoofs far up the track made him pause, and presently a pony shot into sight among the red pine trunks in the distance. Its rider, bending low in the saddle, was sending the plucky little beast along at a furious gallop.
"Why, it's Jack Godfrey!" exclaimed Fred, in surprise. "Why on earth is he in such a deuce of a hurry?"
The pony came tearing down the sandy track, sending spurts of wet sand and water flashing behind it. Next moment Jack Godfrey pulled up at the door and flung himself off the panting, sweating beast.
"What's up?" cried Fred Kinnersly. "You seem in a hurry."
"Is Sam French back yet?" gasped the other.
"No, of course not. He only left the mine after dinner. He generally gets back about ten. Why, what's the matter?" as he saw Godfrey's face go white under the tan.
"Ducane broke jail last night," said Godfrey hoarsely.
Kinnersly staggered. "Good heavens!" he muttered. "How?"
"Set fire to the place. He and his whole gang are out—five of them. They're armed, too. Word came to Orange Port two hours ago that they'd raided Lopez's place early this morning, and left in the direction of the Big Cypress."
"Where's the sheriff?"
"On the wrong track. He thought they'd make for the sea, and he and his posse went toward Wehila. Anderson, the deputy, has got three men, and is on his way round the north end of the Big Cypress. He told me to warn you, and to say that as the water's so high it'll probably be midnight before he reaches Black Bayou."
Kinnersly was whiter than the other. The whole position was clear to him.
In a few words it stood thus: He, Kinnersly, was sub-manager of the Big Lone Pine Phosphate Mine, which lay about a mile from the edge of the swamp known as the Big Cypress. This swamp was twenty-five miles long, but not more than two to three wide.
On the other side of the swamp was Lakeville, the county town. It was distant from the mine seven miles, as the crow flies, and more than twenty by road.
Every Friday afternoon Sam French, the manager of the mine, went to Lakeville in his buggy, accompanied by one negro, to fetch the pay-money for the seventy hands employed in quarrying the phosphate. Sam was well known and popular.
But now—well, there was no one in South Florida who had not heard of the atrocities of Jean Ducane. The man was a mulatto, half French, half negro, who had come to Florida from New Orleans. He had once been employed in the Lone Pine Mine. Trouble began with his getting drunk and insulting Sam, who had promptly knocked him down, and next morning fired him.
Then Ducane had disappeared. A week later Sam French was shot at from the scrub. The mine-hands, who were fond of their manager, made the place too hot to hold the would-be murderer, and the next heard of Ducane was down at Key West.
Escaping from Key West, the mulatto worked his way up the coast to Tampa, where he burgled a bank. But even then he was not caught, and the climax came when he returned to the neighborhood of Lakeville and deliberately fired two houses in the suburbs, causing the death of a woman and two children. The whole neighborhood rose in arms. Ducane was caught, and four negroes with him, and jailed with difficulty by the sheriff in the face of a mob yelling to lynch him.
And now this human wild beast was at large again, and both the young fellows knew that the first thing he would do would be to hold up the manager of the Lone Pine Mine and rob and murder him.
"You see, it's not only revenge," said Kinnersly. "The money would mean everything to him and his gang. All in silver, too!"
"And Sam knows nothing!" cried Godfrey. He pulled out his watch. "What time'll he be passing Black Bayou?"
"About eight, I should think."
"And it's nearly seven now," muttered Godfrey despairingly. "No horse could do it in the time."
"You're sure it will be at Black Bayou?"
"Not a doubt of it. The place is made for a hold-up. Track narrow, thick bay scrub both sides, and there'll be water over the road there, so Sam'll have to walk his horse. It's a death-trap, Fred."
Fred Kinnersly set his teeth. "I'm going to warn him," he said quietly.
Godfrey started. "My dear chap, it's fourteen miles by road. Have you a horse here that can do fourteen miles in an hour over Florida sand and in this storm? Besides, you'd have to come through Black Bayou yourself, and get shot for your pains, to a dead certainty."
"There's another way," said Fred.
"Another way!"
"Across the swamp!"
Godfrey laughed harshly. "You're crazy, Fred."
"Did you ever hear of the Spanish Causeway?" asked Kinnersly quietly.
"That! In this weather! Man, it's under water! All of it. And rotten and broken. You couldn't do it in the dry season and in broad daylight. Listen!"
Again the cloud spat blue fire, and the thunder bellowed angrily over the fast darkening forest.
Kinnersly's jaw hardened. "I'm going to try it. Anything's better than that Sam should be shot down and murdered."
"I tell you it's sheer lunacy. It'll be black dark in half an hour. I wouldn't try it for ten thousand."
"You'll try it for Sam's life," said Kinnersly quietly.
Godfrey stared hard at the other. "You mean to go?"
"I do."
"All right. I'm your man."
In less than five minutes the two, heavily armed, were tramping rapidly along a narrow path which led down a long, gradual slope toward the swamp. By this time clouds had covered the sky and cut off the light of the setting sun. Faster and faster the lightning-flashes shot through the gloom, while the thunder crashed louder and louder till the very ground trembled beneath the reverberations.
Then came the rain in sheets, as if a cataract was falling on the forest. In a few moments the path was swimming. The men were ankle-deep in water, which foamed under the lash of the falling torrents.
They stumbled over twisted roots; long, pliant branches switched their faces; thorny creepers caught and tore their clothes and skin, while now and then the ominous folds of a water-moccasin could be seen in the tangled growth on either side the path.
But the two young men never faltered. Kinnersly leading, they pressed on in single file. The path grew narrower. Here and there Kinnersly was forced to slash the tough creeper with his knife before he could force a passage.
They were on the level now, and the water was nearly knee-deep. To Godfrey, who had never before traveled this path, it was a marvel how Kinnersly found his way.
Gigantic cypresses rose on either side, shutting off the last remnants of light with their monstrous heads of matted foliage; long trails of melancholy Spanish moss brushed their faces, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of palmetto bloom.
Slowly the storm died, passing away into the south, and as the rain ceased the mosquitoes rose in stinging, humming swarms, and the noises of the night swamp burst forth. Bullfrogs bellowed, tree-frogs bleated like lost lambs, crickets shrilled, and owls hooted.
Suddenly Kinnersly sank almost to his waist, but struggled up again immediately. "Look out, Jack. A hole in the causeway," he said quietly.
Godfrey felt the sucking mud beneath the water, and repressed a shiver. At every step the water seemed to deepen. "Shall we do it, Fred?" he muttered.
"It's more open farther on," replied the other. "If the water's not too deep we'll be all right. If it is, we must do a bit of swimming—that's all."
Again they plunged on through the hot darkness. Water and air alike were stagnant. The close steam of the swamp was suffocating, and the darkness was so intense that Godfrey had to follow rather by sound than by sight.
All of a sudden the bushes broke away. They were in the open once more. At that very moment the cloud broke, and the moon shone out clear. The white light fell upon a sheet of water, a wide lagoon, which lay smooth as oil, bounded on every side by a black wall of swamp vegetation.
"This seems to be where we swim, Fred," said Godfrey quietly.
"No," replied Fred. "The causeway crosses, but it's out of sight below the water. Come on."
"Anything's better than those horrible bushes and creepers," said Godfrey. He looked at his watch. "Fred, it's twenty to eight."
"We shall do it," was the confident reply. "It's easier going the far side." As he spoke, Kinnersly stepped out from the shore, and, feeling his way cautiously, walked steadily out across the lake.
Here and there were ugly gaps, but, in the main, the ancient masonry built for some unknown purpose by long-forgotten Spaniards was sound. Their spirits rose as they pressed on rapidly under the welcome light of the full moon.
They were a couple of hundred yards from shore when, all of a sudden, a black object, for all the world like a floating log, rose noiselessly from the depths close on Kinnersly's right.
He stopped sharply, and Godfrey saw him draw his revolver from the holster at his waist.
Godfrey needed no telling. He knew the nature of the new peril which confronted them. An alligator!
Slowly, very slowly, the alligator rose till not only its great gnarled head, but the whole of its long ridged back, was above the water.
"What a brute!" muttered Godfrey, instinctively drawing his big hunting-knife. "Get on, Fred. The alligator's coming closer."
"There's an ugly place just here," replied the other, and Godfrey saw his friend sink nearly to his shoulders, recover himself with an effort, and scramble up the far side. "Wait; I'll help you, Jack," he said, turning.
He pulled his friend across the gap, and then as they both stood up on the far side, in water hardly more than ankle-deep, a simultaneous gasp of horror burst from them both.
Three more alligators had appeared, and, even as they watched, more and more of the hideous monsters rose in ominous silence above the quiet water and came gliding slowly onward toward the causeway.
Their cruel, unwinking eyes shone like green fire in the moon-rays, and the breathless air was full of a sickening odor of musk. There were dozens of them; from huge, rugged veterans of ten or twelve feet and weighing perhaps half a ton, down to fierce, active, hungry six-footers.
For a moment the two young fellows stood hesitating, staring breathlessly at the nightmare spectacle before them. Then Kinnersly desperately cried: "Come on, Jack!"
"Shoot. Why don't you shoot?" exclaimed Godfrey.
"Not till I have to," replied Kinnersly. "Ducane may hear and suspect. If he does, he'll move farther up, and attack Sam before we can reach him."
"But the brutes are closing in."
"Never mind. Come on. Keep close to me, and splash as much as you can."
Kinnersly walked forward. Even in the moonlight he could not see the causeway so much as a step ahead. The thick brown swamp water hid it completely. And both he and Godfrey knew that one false step meant a death almosttoo horrible for words. An alligator fears a man upright on dry land, but in its native element it fears nothing, and will pull down a dog, a horse, a man, or a bull.
Closer and closer the dreadful brutes closed in till their yard-long jaws actually rested upon the crumbling edges of the sunken causeway.
Now and then one would open his vast jaws and blow the air through his nostrils with a noise like a giant snoring. Then the great yellow tusks would clash together with a sharp, ringing sound horribly suggestive of a steel trap closing.
Kinnersly, who was leading, found the water growing deeper.
"Is there a hole there?" cried Godfrey anxiously.
"Afraid there is, old man," replied Kinnersly, feeling cautiously with one foot. "We ought to have brought sticks."
"The 'gators are closing up behind," said Godfrey desperately. "We must shove ahead at any price."
"Right; I have found bottom. Come on." Kinnersly dropped onto his knees. Immediately the whole horde of alligators began moving up. Godfrey, following close behind his friend and splashing vigorously, could not repress a shiver of horror. "Quick!" he hissed; "quick, or they'll have us."
At that very moment the surface of the water broke in front of Kinnersly, and out of the depths heaved itself up a nightmare apparition. An alligator, bigger than any they had seen yet—a gnarled and rugged monster of huge length and enormous girth.
Getting its short, thick forelegs onto the stonework, it hoisted itself up, completely barring the way. Its cavernous mouth gaped open, showing rows of huge, twisted tusks, which could have bitten a bull in two.
Its fetid breath blew full in Kinnersly's face, nearly sickening him with the horrible, putrefying stench.
"Shoot him!" shouted Godfrey. "The others are coming."
There was no help for it. Kinnersly thrust the muzzle of his pistol almost between the yawning rows of teeth and pulled the trigger.
With the report the monstrous brute flung itself high into the air, and fell over sideways with a crash that sent a wave almost over their heads. Next instant the placid water of the bayou was beaten into showers of spray, which gleamed silver in the brilliant moonlight.
Waves dashed over the causeway. The two men stood still, appalled at the fearful death-struggles of the monster.
"Thank goodness, you got him that time!" exclaimed Godfrey, struggling up out of the water onto firmer ground.
Another moment and all was clear. The great alligator had vanished, and with him the others, frightened at the commotion, had gone, too.
"Now's our chance!" cried Kinnersly, and pushed on with reckless speed.
Fortunately, the rest of the causeway was unbroken, and they reached the far side of the lagoon in safety.
"They're coming up again," muttered Godfrey, glancing back.
"Never mind. They can't hurt us now," cried the other.
They were in the brush again, plunging in the mud under the thick shadows of the cypress. Neither spoke. It was very near eight, and each moment they expected to hear shots. Both dreaded they might be too late.
On they rushed, now waist-deep in a morass of mud and rotting vegetation, now struggling through a tangle of wild grape and bamboo vine.
At last, after what seemed an endless time, the footing grew firmer and the ground began to rise. The cypress and palmetto gave place to pine and wire grass.
"We're close to the road," muttered Kinnersly breathlessly. "And I only hope Sam hasn't passed."
"Listen!" hissed the other, pulling up short. "Yes, I hear horses' feet."
Once more they both rushed forward. The hoof-sounds grew plainer, and the red glow of a cigar shone through the pine trunks.
Kinnersly flung himself recklessly into the open. "Sam, is that you?" he hissed desperately.
There was a sharp exclamation. "Who's that?"
"I—Kinnersly. Stop!"
The buggy came to a standstill, and Kinnersly panted out his explanation.
"You came through the swamp!" exclaimed French, as if he could not believe his ears.
"Yes, but don't you understand? Ducane's loose."
"Oh, that's all right," said the other coolly. "He'll be down in Black Bayou, half a mile away. What fazes me is how you chaps came along the causeway. It was mighty white of you, and I'm real grateful. Jump in, an' let's git along an' interview this here Ducane."
For the life of him Kinnersly could not help laughing. "Sam, don't be a fool! There are probably five of them, and you bet they'll be lying up in the timber. The first you know will be they've shot you."