UNDER THE OVERTURNED BOAT.
When Matt, Lorry, and McGlory had made forcible entrance into the boathouse, it had been through the door that fronted the river. Merton and Big John had entered through a door at the other end of the house. Thus, for a time, at least, the broken lock on the other door was not discovered.
"Light up," went on the voice of Big John. "And if you've got anything in a bottle, Ollie, trot it out and mebby it'll drive the chill from our bones. I'm not pinin' for an attack of rheumatism."
"I've got that, too," answered Ollie, with a fatuous snicker. "Always keep something for snake bites."
"And it's a bad thing for a lad of your years. Hurry up with the light."
"Give me time to get out of this mackintosh and then I'll hunt for matches."
There followed the slap of a wet garment on the floor. The next moment a match was struck, and young Merton could be seen making for the lamp. The moment he touched the chimney he jumped back with a cry and the match dropped from his fingers.
"What ails you?" demanded Big John.
"Why, the chimney'shot!" exclaimed Merton. "Somebody's been here, and they haven't been gone very long, either."
"Thunder! It must have been Ross and Kinky. They were to meet us here, you know, and Ross had a key to the boathouse."
"If they were here a few minutes ago," went on Merton, "why aren't they here now?"
"I'll have to pass that. But if any one was here, it was those pals of mine. Go on and light the lamp. Use your handkerchief for taking off the chimney."
Matt, under the overturned boat, drew a breath of relief. But it was only a temporary relief. Already he was wondering what would happen when Ross and Kinky arrived at the rendezvous. Ross had told Matt that he and Kinky were to meet Big John that night, but had carried the impression that the meeting was to take place in town.
Merton's fears were apparently relieved, and he soon had the lamp lighted.
Big John divested himself of a raincoat and removed a dripping cap. Coat and cap he hung very carefully from two nails in the wall.
Merton, meanwhile, was unlocking a cupboard. A bottle and two glasses came out of the cupboard. Merton poured some of the liquor into the glasses. Big John reached over and emptied part of Merton's glass into his own.
"That leaves enough for you, son, and a heap more than you ought to have," said he. "It ain't good for younkers—nor for old fellers, either."
"Oh, splash!" grunted Merton. "You ought to go around with a pocketful of tracts," he grinned. "Whenever you rob a man, leave a tract with him."
"You're mighty cute," observed Big John, setting his empty glass on the table and leaning back in his chair, "but the two of us wasn't cute enough to get the best of Motor Matt. There's a boy! He's a bright and shinin' example. He has backcapped me twice, and the more he does it the more I admire him."
Merton stared; then, developing his silver cigarette case and his silver match box, he proceeded to smoke.
"You're a queer fish, Big John," said he. "If you've got such high standards, why don't you live up to 'em?"
Big John shook his head gloomily.
"I expect it ain't in me," he answered.
"If you'd had Ross and Kinky with you, there at the bend in the Waunakee road, this Motor Matt wouldn't have made a get-away."
"Mebby not; but Ross is down on Motor Matt and wouldn't hesitate to hand him his finish. That's the reason I wouldn't have Ross along; and I let Kinky stay with Ross as a sort of safeguard, in case anythin' went crossways and Ross happened to find Motor Matt. Only the hope of me gettin' that money has caused Ross to hold back as long as he has. Now that he knows there's no hope of gettin' the money, he'll be as mad as a cannibal. Ross is worse'n an Apache Injun when he's worked up."
"Then he'll be mad when he comes here and finds you didn't get the money, won't he?"
"He will; and I've laid my plans to make a quick jump for the West. I'll land that precious Ross where he won't get us all into trouble."
"You were telling me that you had set old man Lorry against Motor Matt."
A slow grin worked its way over Big John's face.
"Anonymous letter," said he. "I just wrote Lorry that I was a detective, and didn't think it wise to putmy information over my own name, see? Then I went on to tell him to look out for Motor Matt, and explained that he was in cahoots with the three desperate scoundrels who had stolen the ten thousand in 'Frisco. That'll make Lorry think a little. But see here, son. You haven't been private adviser for young Lorry just to make a man of him in the gamblin' line, have you? What's your graft? I'll bet it's somethin' more than getting him away from his mother's apron strings, and out of the sissy class."
Merton's sinister face took on a crafty look.
"You're right," said he. "The Winnequa Club has a race in a few days. For reasons of my own, I intend to win that race. See? Lorry also wanted to have a boat in the race, and he's about the only one, apart from me, whose dad has money enough to furnish him with a boat that will make the rest of us climb. But old man Lorry isn't furnishing George with the boat." Merton chuckled. "When George asked me what he ought to do the time his father threatened to send him to military school, I told George to skip, and to get as far away as he could. That left me free to do as I wanted to in that motor-boat event."
Merton winked.
"H'm!" murmured Big John. "You're a foxy youngster. I'm not sayin' it's creditable in you, mind, but it shows sharp thinking, all right."
The three boys under the overturned boat were able to see and hear all that went on. When the conversation between Merton and Big John had proceeded that far, Matt heard a sharp breath escape Lorry's lips.
A few words, and Merton's despicable planning had been laid bare. Out of Merton's own mouth Lorry could judge him. This false friend, with whom Lorry had associated, and whose advice he had taken, had headed him toward irretrievable ruin.
"Oh, I can be foxy if I want to," said Merton. "All I want now is to make sure that Lorry doesn't get in that race."
"I guess you can be easy on that point," returned Big John dryly. "The old gent won't put up money for the boat on a bet. Motor Matt called on Lorry. I talked with Gus, the Lorry chauffeur, and he said there was a heap of coldness developed durin' the interview, and that when Motor Matt had left, Lorry used the telephone and asked police headquarters to have a plain-clothes man pick up his trail and follow him. The fly cop followed Motor Matt from Third Lake into Fourth, but lost him somewhere around the Mendota end of the Catfish. The last thing I did, before leaving Madison to come here, was to drop another unsigned letter in the mails for Lorry."
"What was that for?" asked Merton.
"I told Lorry that if he would cross Fourth Lake in the morning, and proceed up the Catfish as far as Whisky Creek, then leave the boat and walk up the creek for a mile, he would come to the place where Motor Matt was having McGlory keep his son. I reckonthatwill give Motor Matt something to think about. I'll not be here to see the fun, and I guess young King will get out of the scrape in his customary fashion, but it'll be something by way of remembering Big John. King has made me a lot o' trouble, and has beat me out of a pineapple plantation, and that's all I can do to rough things up for him. You see——"
Big John broke off suddenly. Some one else was approaching the boathouse. Matt, McGlory, and Lorry could hear the footsteps plainly.
Merton started to get up, but Big John lifted a restraining hand.
"If they're the ones we expect," said he, "they've got a key and can let themselves in. If they're not the ones we're looking for, then we don't want them here."
A key rattled in the lock just as Big John finished speaking. The next moment the door opened and two men blew in.
They were Ross and Kinky!
A DASH FOR THE OPEN.
That visit of Matt, McGlory, and Lorry to the boathouse was worth all the danger it had brought, even if it had resulted in nothing more than opening Lorry's eyes to the duplicity of his supposed friend.
But other things had developed that were highly interesting, as well as edifying.
Matt was astounded to learn that an anonymous letter had made the elder Lorry so bitterly hostile. If Lorry had put so much faith in one unsigned letter, surely he would have equal confidence in the second, and might be expected to cross the lake on the following morning and make his way to the cabin on the creek.
It was likewise refreshing to learn that Big John was intending to take his two pals and return to the West. Matt was not forgetting that Ross and Kinky had some three hundred dollars of his money, and before the flight something must be done to recover the funds.
But just then a common danger suggested that the boys must get away from the boathouse. There were four enemies against them, and at least three of the enemies were armed.
"We've got to get out of here, Joe," whispered Matt.
"Why not lay low tilltheyget out?" returned the cowboy.
"It won't be possible. That hot lamp chimney is going to do the trick for us. Big John will mention it and ask Ross and Kinky why they left the boathouse and went out into the rain. Ross and Kinky will say theydidn't; then there'll be talk and a hunt for intruders. We've got to make a dash for the open—and at once."
"You've got it right, Motor Matt," murmured Lorry. "The quicker I can get away from here, the better I'll like it. I've learned a lot," and there was bitterness in Lorry's voice as he finished.
"Let's heave over the boat and make a dash for the back door," suggested McGlory. "We're rushin' straight into the dark, and, if we're quick, we can get clear before there's any shooting."
"That hits me," said Lorry.
"It's now or never, then," assented Matt. "Separate, just outside the boathouse, and then come together again at the launch. We'll go up to that cave you fellows found. You understand the plan, do you?"
"Yes," answered Lorry and McGlory.
"Then lay hold of the edge of the boat," went on Matt.
In their narrow quarters the three boys knelt, waiting for the word to lift the boat's edge from the skids and throw the hulk entirely over. It was not a large boat, and their strength was fully equal to the task they had set for themselves.
"Now!" hissed Matt.
Over went the boat with a crash. Startled yells came from the sitting room, followed by silence broken only by a rush of feet as Matt, Lorry, and McGlory darted toward the rear door.
"Stop 'em!" roared Big John.
"Guns!" cried Ross; "use your guns!"
McGlory halted and whirled. At the side of the boat he had found a small can of white lead, which was probably to do its part in giving the hull a coat of paint. When starting to run the cowboy had taken the can of lead with him.
He paused to hurl the can. Straight as a bullet it shot through the air, crashed into the lamp, and plunged the interior of the boathouse in darkness. Another moment and McGlory had hurled himself through the door.
Acting upon Matt's suggestion, the three friends separated as soon as they reached the outside air. Ten minutes later they were all together again at the place where theSpritewas moored.
There was a lull in the storm, and for a while, at least, the rain had stopped.
Matt began ripping off the boat's tarpaulin cover.
"Cast off the painter, Joe," he called, as he worked. "You can help me with this, George," he added. "Never mind the skiff—we can't bother with that now."
Clearing a working space aft of the hood, Matt leaped into the boat and began getting the motor into action. George finished removing the "tarp," and McGlory scrambled aboard with the end of the painter.
From the direction of the boathouse sounds of pursuit could be heard.
"Tumble in, George," called Matt. "You can finish that from inside the boat."
McGlory gave his cousin a hand and Matt started the propeller.
Taking the launch up the river on such a night was hazardous in the extreme. But Matt had the bearings of the stream in his head, and he urged theSpriteboldly onward.
From behind them, somewhere, a revolver was fired. The leaden missile caused no damage, and the launch rushed on into the gloom.
Lorry, who knew the river well, pushed to Matt's side to be of what help he could.
"You never had a better chance to wreck a boat, Motor Matt," said Lorry, "than you've got right now."
"I'm hoping for the best," returned Matt. "Instinct, more than anything else, is guiding me. I don't know, but I seem tofeelit when we're going wrong."
It was the same instinct, perhaps, which carries a horse over the right road when the rider is lost, or that carries a bird miles and miles through the air to the same nest in the same tree of the forest.
This was not the first time Matt had profited by that vague intuition. It was almost like a sixth sense.
McGlory, time and again, held his breath, fearing that they were about to run upon the rocks; but, just as surely, time and again, the king of the motor boys turned the wheel and deep water remained under them.
"It's up to you fellows to tell me where to stop," said Matt.
"I'm watching for the place," replied Lorry, "but the shore line looks like a solid blur of shadow. I can't distinguish one point from another."
"Figure it out by dead-reckoning," suggested Matt. "You must have some idea, George, how far the cave is from the lake."
"Two miles, I should say."
"Then, at this speed, we've covered the two miles," and Matt shut off the power and let the boat's momentum carry her toward the bank.
TheSpritecame to a halt with a slight jar, which proved that she had struck.
"That's all right," announced Matt, "and we're close enough to tie up. Never mind if we do get our feet wet; we're in luck to get out of that boathouse as well as we did."
"You can gamble the limit on that," answered McGlory, splashing ashore with the painter. "I'm a Digger, too, if this place don't look familiar to me, what little I can see of it."
"It's familiar to me, too," exulted Lorry. "Why, fellows, we're within a hundred feet of the cave! Talk about luck, will you? This lays over anything that ever came my way."
Matt replaced the tarpaulin, got over the side, and waded to the bank. Lorry and McGlory led him upward for a dozen feet to a place where the bank broke away in a sort of narrow shelf. Something like a hundred feet along this shelf was the opening into the cavern. The entrance was masked with hazels, but the boys crowded in, and soon found themselves in dry quarters.
"Speak to me about that boathouse, please!" guffawed the cowboy, stretching himself out on the uneven stone floor. "Were Big John and his pals surprised! I rather guess they were."
"Tell us more about that attempt Big John and Merton made to rob you on the Waunakee road," said Lorry. "It seems strange that Merton should have a hand in anything like that, or that he should be mixed up with this gang of scoundrels at all. Merton's folks are immensely wealthy. They're traveling in Europe now, and Merton is in Madison attending the university. Mert is a spender, all right, and all he has to do when he wants money is to ask for it. Why should he help Big John try to get that ten thousand from you, Matt?"
"Possibly it wasn't the money end of the deal that attracted Merton," answered Matt. "It may be that all he wanted, Lorry, was to make you as much trouble as he could."
Lorry muttered angrily under his breath.
"I don't know how I ever let him pull the wool over my eyes," said he, "but it's a fact that I considered Ollie Merton my best friend. It was by his advice that I took that money and went to 'Frisco."
"That, alone," remarked Matt earnestly, "proves that Merton was not a friend."
"I'm beginning to see it in that light myself," admitted Lorry. "It's hard to have to say so, but it's the truth."
"Hard!" scoffed McGlory. "Why, pard, the way you're showin' up is sure hard to beat. But don't hang fire with that yarn of yours, Matt. You've got ours, and all George and I need is a statement of facts from you in order to get the whole business straight in our own minds. Heave ahead now, and be quick about it. I'm about ready to doze off."
Matt began with his start for Waunakee, related the attempted robbery, and the manner in which he and Ethel Lorry had backed the runabout along the Waunakee road and into Madison.
The part Matt dreaded to tell had to do with his interview with Lorry's father; but Lorry had shown such a surprising change in his whole manner of thought and action that Matt detailed the conversation between himself and Mr. Lorry exactly as it had occurred.
A few days before, such a report would have sent George into a furious tirade against his father, but he now listened quietly and without comment.
Matt, highly pleased, proceeded to tell how he had taken the launch from the express office, had engaged Pickerel Pete, and had run theSpriteinto Fourth Lake and up the Catfish; then followed his visit to the cabin, his failure to find McGlory and Lorry, his return to the launch, his capture by a ruse on the part of Ross, and, finally, the murderous attempt which Ross had made and which had come so near being successful.
"That Ross must be bug-house!" growled McGlory angrily.
"He had been drinking," said Matt. "A man will do things when he's partly intoxicated that he wouldn't think of doing when sober."
"You're out three hundred dollars, Matt," spoke up Lorry, "and I don't think that money will ever come back to you. When we made that dash from the boathouse, Big John and his pals knew we had been there long enough to learn a whole lot about their plans. Ross and Kinky have discovered that you were saved from the burning boat, even if they didn't know it before, and all three of the rascals will not lose a minute getting away from this part of the country. I doubt if it would do any good for us to go to Madison and report to the police. Big John and his pals are done with Madison, and with you. They'll make tracks for where they came from, and they'll do it at once."
"That sounds like pretty good reasoning to me," observed Matt, "but I guess that what we've accomplished is worth all it cost us. What are your plans, Lorry?"
"I'm going home in the morning," declared Lorry. "If I'm to go to a military school—well, there are worse places."
"Listen to George!" cried McGlory. "Oh, tell me about George! Ain't he a surprise party, though?"
"Now," said Matt jubilantly, "I'msurethat what we've accomplished is worth the price. Good night, pards. I've found a soft stone, and I've got material for pleasant dreams, so I'm going to sleep. In the morning, we're for across the lake—and Aristocracy Hill!"
THE POWER BOAT—MINUS THE POWER.
The boys were astir early, it being their intention to reach Madison and the Lorry home before Mr. Lorry could get away to cross the lake—providing that proved to be his intention.
The boys had a frugal breakfast off the cold food McGlory and Lorry had brought from the cabin, and immediately after they emerged from the cave upon the narrow shelf that ran in front of it.
The rain seemed to be over, and the leaden clouds were being scattered by a fierce wind from the west.
"This is a bad morning to be on Fourth Lake," said George, casting an anxious eye upward. "I had hopedthe wind would blow itself out, but it appears to be as strong as ever."
"Why not leave theSpritehere," suggested McGlory, "and hike for Madison along the wagon road?"
"It would take us too long," protested Matt. "I think a boat that can stand the seas in 'Frisco Bay ought to be able to negotiate this fresh-water lake. TheSprite'sreliable, I can say that for her; and, so long as we have power, I guess we needn't fear the wind."
"We'd better have a look at the boat by daylight," said McGlory. "For all we know, pards, the end may have been burned off her."
But an examination showed that theSpritehad suffered little damage from the fire. The luggage was thrown aboard and the boys climbed to their places. One turn of the flywheel and the cylinders took the spark; then, on the reverse, the boat was pulled from the shoal into deep water, Matt changed to the forward drive, and they were off in a wide circle that pointed them for Lake Mendota.
"I don't care a whoop what happens now," gloried the cowboy, "we've got George out of the woods, and that's the main thing."
"Call it that if you want to, Joe," said Lorry, "but there's music for me to face, over on Fourth Lake Ridge."
"And you're goin' to face it like a little man, Georgie; and if Uncle Dan don't back down on that military-school proposition he'll get a cold blast from Joe McGlory. And that, pards," the cowboy added, "is a shot that goes as it lays."
"I'll take my medicine and not make much of a face, no matter how bitter the dose is," went on George; "but there's one thing that's bound to happen."
"Meanin' which, George?" inquired McGlory.
"Why, my father is going to be set right on the subject of Motor Matt."
"Don't let me cause any friction between you, George," urged Matt. "The breach between you and your father is in a fair way of being healed."
"So far as I am concerned," said Lorry, a flush tinging his cheeks, "I'm willing to admit that I acted like a fool. I'll go on record with that, face to face with the governor; I'll even go further and say that it was weakness that made me hang back from Madison, stop in that cabin, and send Motor Matt on to make a dicker and save my pride. But the governor has got to understand that Motor Matt's my friend, and that, but for him and you, Joe, I'd not be here now. Right is right, and Motor Matt is going to have justice, if nothing more."
"I'm glad as blazes, George," caroled McGlory, "to hear you tune up in that fashion. The more I listen to you, since last night, the better I feel."
"I was quite a while getting to sleep in that cave," pursued Lorry. "I lay there, on the hard rocks, and reviewed everything I've done since leaving Madison. It seems as though a fog had been cleared out of my brain, and that I was able to stand off and get a clean-cut, impersonal look at myself. The sight wasn't pleasing. I know why Motor Matt suggested that stop at Waunakee, and a probation in the cabin on the creek. He read me better than I could read myself. He knew that I had pride which would not suffer humiliation and disgrace, and that if I was not pampered and humored a little I would probably go off on another rebellious splurge—and wind up my future prospects. By staying at that cabin, I brought all these dangers upon Matt; and yet, if he had not suggested some such move as the halt at Waunakee, I should very likely have bolted from the train between 'Frisco and here. Oh, what an unreasoning idiot I have been!"
Lorry dropped down on a seat and bowed his head in his hands.
"Speak to me about this, Matt!" whispered McGlory, placing himself alongside the king of the motor boys. "Who'd ever have dreamed my haughty, high-and-mighty cousin would ever have come to the scratch in such a way? Sufferin' tyrants! I wonder if Uncle Dan is going to do the right thing by George, or make as big a fool of himself as George did?"
"I think Mr. Lorry, after he sees and talks with George, will do the right thing," returned Matt.
Just here theSpriteshot out of the river into the rolling waters of Fourth Lake. The west wind, marshaling its strength on the broad sweep of the prairies, caught up the waves and flung them headlong toward Maple Bluff. The launch leaped and staggered, shoved her bow into the highest waves, and then shivered and flung off the spray in a double cataract on each side.
It was a nerve-tingling ride, and McGlory suddenly made up his mind that his stomach would feel better if he sat down.
George, his face flushed with excitement, looked around him and gave a jubilant shout.
"Great!" he cried.
"I wish I felt like that," groaned McGlory. "For Heaven's sake, Matt, see how quick you can get us to the other side."
"We can tie up at the yacht club on the west shore," said Lorry.
"All right," answered Matt. "Look at that boat over there, George," he added, nodding his head in the direction of Governor's Island. "She's the only other boat on the lake, so far as I can see, and she's acting as though something is wrong with her."
Lorry stood up, braced himself, and peered ahead.
"She's a bigger boat than ours," he remarked, "and looked to me like theStella. TheStellais a thirty-footer, and belongs to Barkley Cameron, a neighbor of ours up on the Hill. By Jupiter," he added, a few momentslater, "it is theStella, and she's in trouble, as sure as you're a foot high."
"The wind is driving her toward the Bluff," said Matt excitedly. "Her engine's dead—she hasn't any power to fight the wind and waves."
"And there are four men aboard her," went on Lorry. "Great Scott! If they ever go on those rocks at the point, the boat will be smashed to kindling and every one aboard of her drowned. Let's stand by theStella, Matt, and try and do something for her."
"I'm rushing theSpritein theStella'sdirection," answered Matt, "and have been for some time. But we may not be able to do anything. She's half a mile nearer the rocks than we are, and she may go onto them before we can overhaul her."
Far off, just beyond the drifting and helpless launch, Matt and Lorry could see the white waves flinging themselves against the jutting crags of McBride's Point. TheSpritewas coming up with theStellahand over fist, but theStella'sdrift was carrying her toward the cliffs with tremendous speed.
"I can see the people on board," cried George, "and two of them are tinkering with the engine. If they can get the motor in shape they're all right, but if they can't——"
George broke off abruptly, and stood clinging to Matt and staring at the other boat with frenzied eyes. Two of theStella'spassengers, as Matt could see, were looking toward theSpriteand waving their hands frantically.
"Matt," called George huskily, "one of those men is my father!"
"Great guns!" gasped Matt. "He started across the lake in theStella. We didn't leave the Catfish quick enough. But keep your nerve, George. We're going to save them if we have to run into the breakers and pull theStellaoff the cliff!"
A RECONCILIATION.
McGlory aroused himself for a moment, and learned what the excitement was all about. Straightway he forgot his physical ills and became absorbed in the wonderful race Motor Matt was running with death. By every trick in his power the king of the motor boys was doing his utmost to urge theSpriteonward. The boat's speed became a terrific dash, a headlong hustle, with wind and wave helping the propeller.
"We'll never make it!" groaned George.
"Buck up, George!" cried McGlory. "Motor Matt has done harder things than this."
"But theStellawill be on the rocks before we can get to her! And there's the governor, likely to meet his fate right under my eyes! Oh, what a scoundrel I have been! Seeing the governor like this, perhaps for the last time, makes me realize what I have done. He was crossing the lake to find me, Joe."
George's voice died to a whisper and ended in a dry sob.
"Pull yourself together, I tell you!" roared McGlory. "Now's the time to show yourself aman!"
"Yell to them to stand ready to throw a rope," said Matt, between his teeth. "We can't get alongside of them before they hit the rocks, but we can come near enough so we can catch a rope if there's a strong enough arm to pass it."
Lorry cast aside his overpowering doubts and fears and flung himself into the fight with demoniacal energy.
"Stand ready with a rope!" he yelled, trumpeting through his hands and doing his best to make his voice heard above the roar and crash of the waves.
Again and again he repeated it, and McGlory joined in, timing his voice with his cousin's.
One of the men who had been working at the engine suddenly left his thankless labor and placed himself well forward on theStellaat the point nearest to the approachingSprite.
"Make ready to grab the rope, both of you!" shouted Matt. "If you're lucky enough to grab it, take a half-hitch around the stern stanchion, and lay back on the end of the rope with every ounce of power in your bodies! There, stand by! They're going to throw!"
Matt shifted the wheel and, for a minute, placed theSpritebroadside on to wind and waves. This gave the man with the rope a better mark.
Out shot the coil of hemp, but the resistance of the wind caused it to fall pitifully short.
A cry of despair went up from Lorry.
"Once more!" yelled McGlory, as Matt pointed theSpritestraight for theStellaand flung her onward.
The man rapidly coiled the rope in his hands. Another man stepped forward and took the rope to make the next cast himself. He was a more powerfully built man than the one who had attempted the first cast.
"This will tell the story," cried George. "If this throw fails theStellawill be smashed to pieces on the bluff."
Matt and McGlory knew that fully as well as Lorry; and those on theStellamust have realized it.
The man with the rope was cool and deliberate. It was plain he was not going to waste any valuable chances by undue haste; then, as he was whirling the rope to let it fly, Matt again turned theSpritebroadside on.
For an instant it looked as though the rope was again to fall short; but Lorry, stretching far out from the side of theSprite, snatched the end of the rope out of the air with convulsive fingers, and fell with it to the bottom of the boat.
A faint cheer went up from those on theStella.
But the battle was not yet won. McGlory went to the assistance of Lorry, and the slack of the cable was jerked out of the water. This gave sufficient rope for a half-hitch around the stanchion and a firm hand hold. The cowboy and his cousin lay back on the line, bracing their feet against the thwarts and clinging with all their strength.
Motor Matt, meanwhile, had been busy with his part of the work. The instant the rope was made fast, he had shifted the bow of theSprite, switching off the power for a moment in order to lessen the shock when the launch should begin to feel the pull.
Yet even with this precaution the shock was tremendous. But nothing gave way, and slowly but surely theSpritetook up her burden.
For a few moments the two boats seemed to stand stationary, the power of theSpritejust counterbalancing the push of wind and wave against both boats; then, a little later, theSpritebegan to move, gathering headway by slow degrees.
Anything like speed was out of the question, but theSprite, without missing a shot, plowed her way like a tugboat through the churning waters, and brought herself and her tow safely along the yacht club's pier.
Matt and McGlory, busy making theSpritefast, caught a glimpse of George rushing across the pier to meet his father.
"George!" shouted the elder man.
"Dad!" cried George.
And they came together, gripping each other's hands. With arms locked they walked the length of the pier and vanished inside the yacht club's headquarters.
"Reconciliation?" queried McGlory. "If it isn't, I don't know the brand. Oh, I reckon Uncle Dan will do the right thing by George. That cold blast of mine will have to be permanently retired. Matt, give us your paw! This is a grand day for the Lorry tribe!"
"No doubt about that, Joe," answered Matt, with feeling, as he and McGlory shook hands.
Half an hour later Matt went into the yacht club to telephone police headquarters about his stolen money. He had only a very faint hope of ever seeing the money again, but he felt it his duty to do everything possible to recover it.
Over the 'phone he gave a description of Big John, Ross, and Kinky.
The man at the other end of the line had just promised to do what he could when Matt was caught by a strong hand and turned around. He was once more face to face with Lorry, Sr. But there was a difference in the Lorry of Matt's first and second meeting.
"By gad!" cried Lorry, "I want to shake hands with a hero. Nobly done, young man! But for you we'd have gone to smash against Maple Bluff, every last one of us on theStella. We had our little differences when we met, that other time, Motor Matt, but I didn't understand the matter then. George here has been telling me how much he owes to you, how much I owe to you, how much I owe to him, and we all owe to McGlory, and everybody owes to everybody else. Gad! my head is fair splitting with it all. Never mind that three hundred that was taken away from you; I guess"—and the rich man laughed—"that my bank account is good for three hundred. I'll see thatyoudon't lose anything. We'll have more talk about this later."
Lorry, Sr., turned to where McGlory was standing, at Matt's side, his black eyes gleaming humorously.
"Ah, Joe, you rascal," went on Lorry, placing two hands on the cowboy's shoulders, "you've done something to make us all proud of you—and I guess you'll find it out before you're many days older."
"What are you going to do for George, uncle?" queried McGlory.
"You watch! Keep your eyes skinned and you'll see me do something for you as well as for George."
Lorry, Sr., pushed himself between Matt and McGlory and caught each of them by an arm.
"Come on, my lads!" said he, "you're both going up to the house with George and me. This is a happy day, and the Lorrys are going to celebrate. Naturally, the celebration won't be complete without Motor Matt and Joe. Never mind your boat—I've asked the people here to look after it. Gus is outside with the big car, and all we've got to do is to get in and strike out for home.Home!How does that sound to you, my son?"
"It has a truer ring, dad," answered George, "than it ever had before."
"Maybe it's a different home, George," answered Mr. Lorry. "Anyhow, we'll try to make it so."
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (23) WILL CONTAIN
MOTOR MATT'S PRIZE;
OR,
THE PLUCK THAT WINS.
A Clash in Black and Yellow—Pickerel Pete's Revenge—A "Dark Horse"—Plans—An Order to Quit—Facing the Music—Gathering Clouds—The Plotters—Firebugs at Work—Saving the "Sprite"—Out of a Blazing Furnace—What About the Race?—Mart Rawlins Weakens—The Race—The Start—The Finish—Conclusion.
A Clash in Black and Yellow—Pickerel Pete's Revenge—A "Dark Horse"—Plans—An Order to Quit—Facing the Music—Gathering Clouds—The Plotters—Firebugs at Work—Saving the "Sprite"—Out of a Blazing Furnace—What About the Race?—Mart Rawlins Weakens—The Race—The Start—The Finish—Conclusion.
NEW YORK, July 24, 1909.
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It was the sudden change in the color of the water that made Nick Salveson realize something was wrong.
All day thunder had been muttering far up in the mountains, but down in the river valley the autumn sun had been shining warm; and, busy with his fishing, Nick had paid no attention to the heavy clouds which hung over the jagged peaks upstream.
Suddenly the water lost its crystal clearness, and turned to a yellow, muddy hue, and the canoe began to strain at her anchor rope.
"Reckon it's about time to quit," muttered the young fellow; and, hastily reeling in his line, he laid the rod down and set to work to pull up the anchor.
It was badly jammed between two rocks at the bottom. By the time he had cleared it the river had risen at least two feet, and was roaring down in a sheet of muddy foam.
"Guess there's been a cloud burst up in the hills," said Nick to himself as he turned the bow of the canoe upstream.
He was not uneasy. He had spent the whole summer in Alaska, and could handle a canoe as well as most boys of his age.
He had been anchored close in under the far bank. To reach his camp he had to cross the whole width of the river, and return nearly a mile upstream.
But he had not taken six strokes before he realized that two strong men could not have paddled the canoe back against the flood that was now coming down. The only thing to do was to get across, land anywhere he could, pull the canoe up, and walk back.
"Great ghost! but it's strong," he muttered, as, in spite of his efforts, the bow of the canoe was swung sideways by the weight of the water.
He leaned forward, drove the paddle deep in the yellow flood, and, with all his weight in the stroke, attempted to force her round.
Crack! The paddle, worn thin with weeks of hard wear, snapped like a pipestem. Nick was left with a mere foot or so of useless stump. The blade was gone.
Instantly the rising flood seized the canoe and sent her flying madly downstream. Like a feather she danced and spun among the whirling yellow eddies.
Recovering from the sudden shock of the accident, Nick made a desperate effort to steer inshore by using the stump of the paddle. It was useless. The flood, rising every minute, mocked his best efforts.
At last, streaming with perspiration, and with his heart beating like a hammer, he gave it up, and sat grimly quiet and silent. There was something of the stoicism of the Indian in this son of a San Francisco millionaire. He had done his best. Now the only thing was to wait and see what the river would do with him.
Mile after mile the relentless current bore him flying westward. Soon he was past all his landmarks, and speeding through country completely unknown to him. Once or twice the river contracted dangerously between walls of rock, and the canoe pitched and plunged among foam-tipped waves. But for the most part the banks were hillsides covered with primeval forest of fir and hemlock. There was nowhere any sign of man.
"It'll take me all my time to get back even if I do manage to hit the bank somewhere," said Nick to himself grimly, as he noted the tangled thickness of the woods on either hand.
He was in a tight place; he knew that. What he hoped was that some freak of the current would drive the canoe near enough to the bank to catch hold of a branch and so pull himself ashore.
But this did not happen, and, after his mad flight had lasted for a full hour, Nick became desperately anxious. In the distance, he could see that the valley narrowed greatly, and he more than suspected that he was approaching dangerous rapids.
He swung round a curve. Yes, he was right. Barely half a mile away the whole river plunged into a gorge so narrow it looked like a mere crack in the cliff. The shriek of the tortured waters rang high above the roar of the flood which bore the canoe onward to its doom.
Nick was no fool. He knew that in all human possibility his fate was sealed. No craft that man ever built could hope to pass in safety down the raging flood that boiled through that rift in the mountain.
"Rotten luck!" he muttered. "Well, there's one comfort—there's no one to miss me except old Rube, and I don't remember I ever did any one a dirty trick in my life."
Every instant the scream of the rapids grew louder. Nick could see the mouth of the rift and the yellow waves heaping themselves high against the black precipices on either hand.
On flashed the canoe. Every moment her speed increased. She was a bare one hundred yards from the top of the rapids, when a yell from the right-hand bank rose high above the thunder of the flood, and Nick, turning his head, saw a small, slight figure dashing down through the trees.
Just above the gate of the rapids half a dozen great bowlders showed their black heads above the yellow foam. Without a moment's hesitation the stranger leaped from the bank to the nearest, and so from rock to rock, till he stood far out near the centre of the raging river.
Nick watched him with straining eyes. Was there still a bare chance? No! At that moment an eddy swept the canoe away to the left. With a groan Nick realized that she would pass far out of reach of his would-be rescuer.
The canoe shot like an arrow toward the lip of the fall. Nick waved the broken stump of his paddle in farewell to the figure on the rocks.
The latter's right arm whirled up, and, with a sharp hiss, a coil of rope flashed out and dropped clean and true across the canoe.
Nick snatched at it with the energy of despair. As it tightened, the canoe was drawn away from under him, and he, dragged over the stern, was struggling in the rushing water.
A minute of gasping, stifling battle among the tumbling, roaring waves. The strain on the rope was so tremendous that it seemed to Nick that either it must break or the man who held it must be pulled off his slippery perch.
But neither happened, and inch by inch the boy was drawn in, until a hand grasped him and pulled him, gasping and exhausted, onto the solid summit of the bowlder.
"Can you jump?" He heard an anxious voice. "The water's still rising. It'll be over the rock soon."
"You bet I can," replied Nick, struggling to his feet and shaking himself like a dog.
"Come on, then!" cried the other. And, sure-footed as a goat, he sprang across six feet of raging torrent to the next rock. Nick set his teeth and followed, and in another minute was safe ashore beside his rescuer.
"Mean to say you live here all alone!" exclaimed Nick Salveson in blank amazement, as he looked round the bare little log hut a little later.
"Yes, for the last four months, ever since my father left."
"Did he go down to the coast?"
"I wish he had. No, he went inland, over the Big Snowies!"
"Great Scott! What for?" asked Nick bluntly.
"Gold," replied the other. "I'll tell you about it. My name's Glenn—Roger Glenn. We came here a year ago prospecting. We heard there was gold down here, but we didn't do much, and an Indian who was snowbound here last winter told my father that there was rich placer ground the other side of the mountains."
"But no one's ever been across there," objected Nick. "There's no pass."
"The Indian told us there was. He made a map. Here's a copy of it."
"So your dad tried it?" said Nick, staring curiously at the rough map.
"He went the first of June last, and I've not seen or heard of him since. He said he'd be back in six or eight weeks."
"Gee, but that's bad," replied Nick sympathetically. "What do you reckon you are to do?"
"What can I do?" cried young Glenn bitterly. "I'm mad to go after him, but I haven't a red cent to grubstake myself or buy a pony or dogs or a sledge."
Nick stared in silence at the other for some seconds. Then he said slowly:
"Say, Mr. Glenn, that flood may have done us both a good turn. What d'ye say to taking me along in your trip over the Snowies?"
Roger stared violently.
"B-but——" he began.
"No 'buts' about it. I'm running this outfit. Look here, Roger—I guess you don't mind my calling you by your first name—I'm pretty well fixed. My people are dead; they were killed in the earthquake in San Francisco. I'm my own boss, though I am only eighteen, and I came up to Alaska this summer to get a holiday before I go to the university next Christmas. There isn't a thing I'd like better than a trip over the Snowies, and if we're smart we'll do it and be back before winter hits us. Are you agreeable?"
"I don't know how to thank you," said Roger brokenly.
"Then don't worry to try, old man," replied Nick comfortably. "Just fix up a mouthful of grub, and give me a bunk. We ought to start before sun-up to-morrow morning."
"Seems to me, Rube, you were a bit out in your reckoning," said Nick as early one morning, ten days later, he looked out of the tent and found the landscape white with snow.
Rube shook his grizzled head.
"'Tain't that altogether, boss. I reckon we're a matter of four thousand feet higher than your summer camp. Winter comes here a sight sooner than down in them river valleys. Howsomever, it ain't deep, and it'll melt when the sun gets good an' strong."
All that day the little party of three struggled up a narrow valley that wound ever upward into the heart of a maze of great snow peaks. Over and over again tall cliffs loomed up in front, and it seemed as if they could go no further. But always there appeared some fresh opening, and bit by bit they won their way upward toward the summit of the range.
"I reckoned as I knew this here country's well as any," said Rube, staring thoughtfully up at a tremendous pyramid peak, the snow on which was gold and crimson in the light of the setting sun. "But this beats me. 'Tain't on any map as ever I seed."
"The Indian said no white man had ever crossed it," said Roger.
"Hed he bin across hisself?" inquired Rube.
"No. He told dad that none of his tribe had ever been across. And when dad asked him why, he only shook his head, and said something about its being the country of two-tailed devils."
"How did he know of this here pass then?" demanded Rube.
"The map was given him by his father. It had come down goodness knows how many generations. He tried awfully hard to persuade dad not to go."
"They've got a mighty queer lot of legends about these mountains," put in Nick. "You couldn't pay any Injun I ever saw to put foot on 'em."
They camped that night in bitter cold and deep snow on the very summit of the pass. Rube took Nick aside.
"Say, boss, do you reckon we're ever going to find Roger's dad?"
Nick shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know. Roger says that before he left his father told him he'd blaze a trail, so as if anything went wrong his son could come along after. Roger found his father's mark on a tree near the eastern end of the pass."
"Seems to me the chances are ez something hez happened to old Glenn," said Rube thoughtfully. "Chewed by a b'ar, I reckon. Or maybe had a fall. It's a fool job fer any man to come into country like this by hisself."
"I guess I'm going as far as Roger wants," said Nick, "Seeing what he's done for me, it's about the least I can do for him."
"You're right, boss," said Rube. "He's a real white, that boy is!"
"If we don't find his father, I'm going to take him back to the States," said Nick. "But that's a bit o' news you can keep to yourself for the present."
Next morning the sun shone brilliantly on the snow, and, looking down, the party saw, thousands of feet below them, an unknown country covered with a forest heavier than any of them had ever seen before.
"Mighty curious-looking country this," observed Rube doubtfully, as they slipped and slithered down the steep snow-covered rocks. "I don't reckon I ever seed woods as thick as them before."
"What's that queer-looking little plain halfway down?" asked Nick. "Looks like a clearing of some kind."
A smile crossed Rube's leathery face.
"Thet's a pond, boss. It's fruz over, an' the snow's laying thick on it."
Further down they came to a place where the only possible track lay along the bottom of a three-hundred-foot slope, steeper than the roof of a house and thick in snow, which glared blinding white in the morning sun. The opposite slope was covered with the amazingly thick forest which they had seen from above.
"Go keerful," said Rube. "'Twouldn't take a great deal to start a snowslide down them rocks."
"Seems as if something had been falling already," said Roger suddenly. "Look at these pits in the snow."
He pointed to a hole in the snow. It was circular and about two feet deep.
"Now that's strange," exclaimed Nick. "There's a whole row of 'em."
Rube looked at the queer marks, grunted, and shook his head. He hadn't a notion what they were, but did not like to betray his ignorance to the boys.
"Reckon best not talk," he growled. "Don't take much to start snow a-sliding."
For the next half mile no one spoke. Twice more Roger noticed a series of the same queer marks in the snow. Also in two places there seemed to be regular roads beaten back into the thick underbrush of the snowclad forest on their right. He did not pay much attention. His eyes were fixed on the tree trunks.
Suddenly he gave a shout.
"Dad's mark!" he cried, pointing to a blaze on a big trunk by the path.
The words were hardly out of his mouth before there came a deep crashing sound from somewhere behind.
"Yew've done it now!" cried Rube. "That's the snow!"
"Not a bit of it," retorted Nick. "It's coming from the wood."
"Blamed if you ain't right!" exclaimed Rube. "Thet beats all. I never heerd a snowslide come down through a wood afore."
"It's not snow; it's something alive!" shouted Roger. "For heaven's sake, look there!"
Rooted to the ground with sheer amazement, the three saw the forest wave as if it were grass, heard the crashing of great boughs and trunks breaking like nettles under a boy's stick.
There came a scream like the escape of steam from an express engine, and then there burst out from the forest a beast so huge and hideous that those who saw it stood gasping, unable to believe their eyes.
As large as a four-roomed cottage, in shape it resembled an elephant. It was covered all over with a thatch of coarse, reddish hair, and high above its monstrous head it waved a trunk of incredible size. On each side of this trunk curled vast tusks, and its small, bloodshot eyes glowed with bestial fury.
Again came that awful trumpeting. Instantly both the pack ponies were off at a mad gallop.
"Run!" shrieked Rube.
The warning was needless. Nick and Roger were off as hard as their shaking legs could carry them, and behind them came the monster at a shambling gallop, which, in spite of the snow, covered the ground at terrific speed.
Again he trumpeted, and one of the pack ponies, mad with fright, tried to wheel sideways into the wood. The poor brute slipped and fell, rolling over and over. Before it could regain its feet the monster was upon it, and, lifting pony, pack, and all, bodily in its trunk, flung it against the cliffside with such frightful force as must have broken every bone in its body.
The momentary delay gave the others a few yards' start; but almost instantly the gigantic brute was on their track again, and the solid ground shook beneath its ponderous weight as it thundered down the slope.
It could not last. The monster was gaining at every stride. Already Roger felt his breath failing. There was no cover; in fact, the pass was opening out wider and wider as they went.
"Try the trees!" shrieked Nick to Roger.
"No," came a gasp from Rube. "The lake! That's our only chance!"
They were close by the side of the little frozen lake, and the boys saw Rube wheel and dash down the steep bank.
It seemed madness, for on the open ice they were at the mad brute's mercy. Roger was for going straight on, but Nick seized his arm and swung him to the left and onto the lake.
Another of those ear-piercing squeals. Roger, glancing back over his shoulder, saw the gigantic bulk of their enemy come plunging down the sharp descent toward the ice. It rushed straight toward him as though certain of its prey.
Then came a rending crack, and the whole surface of the ice rose and fell beneath the feet of the fugitives. A crash like the explosion of a shell, a terrific bellow, and a wave of icy water rushed across the frozen snow.
"That's done it!" came an exulting yell from Rube; and, swinging round, the boys were just in time to see the domelike head of their terrible enemy sink amid a lather of broken ice and foam.
For another second or two that terrible trunk waved high in the air, as the huge beast fought for its ancient life in the hole its ponderous bulk had broken. Then this, too, vanished. The last of the mammoths had sunk into the depths.
While the three stood in awe-stricken silence, watching the black water heave and bubble, there came a loud shout from the woods at the far end of the lake. A burly man in furs stood waving a rifle.
With a shriek of joy Roger tore away across the ice toward him.
"Reckon that's his pa," observed Rube.
"Guess so," agreed Nick. "We might as well go and see."
"Dad!" cried Roger, as Rube and Nick came up. "If it hadn't been for these good friends I could never have come to look for you."
"Then," said the man in furs with a grave smile, "I'm afraid I should have been hung up here for the term of my natural life."
"What—did that old hairy elephant chase yer?" exclaimed Rube.
"He did, and I got away by the skin of my teeth by climbing a cliff," replied Mr. Glenn. "I've been living up in the hills ever since. Time and again I've tried to find another way out, but there isn't one, and for the life of me I didn't dare risk conclusions a second time with the mammoth."
"I reckon he won't trouble us no more," said Rube dryly. "Say, though, I'd like to have had them tusks. They'd be worth a mint o' money in the States."
"They'd be awkward to carry," smiled Mr. Glenn. "They'd weigh about a quarter of a ton apiece. What do you suppose they'd be worth?"
"A thousand dollars, I reckon," said Rube. Such a sum represented wealth untold to the old trapper.
Mr. Glenn put a hand in his coat pocket, and pulled out a lump of dull yellow metal as big as his fist.
"This isn't worth quite that much," he said quietly, as he handed it to Rube. "But I'd be glad if you'd take it as a sort of consolation prize."
"Great gosh! It's a twenty-ounce nugget!" gasped Rube.
"Yes, and plenty more where that came from," said the prospector.
He turned to his son.
"Roger, I've made the strike of a lifetime. Now to get back to Dawson before the snow comes."