ABLAZE IN THE AIR.
When the king of the motor boys was in the air with theComet, every power of mind and body was trained to the work of looking after the machine.
Flying in an aëroplane is vastly more difficult than sailing in a balloon. In the case of a gas bag, an aëronaut has only to throw out ballast, take his ease, and trust to luck; but, with a heavier-than-air machine,the aviator must rely upon the quickness of his wits and his dexterity.
Aëroplane flying, in a large measure, is a knack, and must be acquired. The air pressure never touches the machine in exactly the same point for two consecutive seconds, and, because of this, the centre of gravity is constantly changing. Centre of gravity and centre of air pressure must coincide at all times if the machine is to be kept in the air, and the success or failure to do this proves the competency or the incompetency of the operator.
The Traquair aëroplane—upon which model Matt's machine had been built—preserved its equilibrium while aloft by an elongation, or contraction, of the wing tips. A lever regulated this; and, whenever Matt was flying, the lever was moving continuously, the ends of the wings darting out and in with lightning-like rapidity, one side presenting greater wing area to the pressure while the other presented less, and vice versa.
Motor Matt's engagement with Boss Burton did not cover long flights. Usually, if the weather was propitious, he made it a point to remain aloft about fifteen minutes, circling about the show grounds, turning sharp corners and cutting airy "figure eights," in order to show the capabilities of the aëroplane.
"Get your trapeze over, Le Bon!" he called, while they were steadily mounting.
A laugh was his answer—a silvery ripple of a laugh that had a familiar ring in his ears and now filled him with consternation. He dared not look around.
"Haidee!" he exclaimed.
"Are you mad at me, Motor Matt?" came the voice of the girl.
She cautiously slipped into the seat beside him, her heightened color and sparkling eyes showing her excitement.
"This was a trick," went on Matt calmly, attending to his work with an indifference more apparent than real, "which you and Le Bon and Burton played on me?"
"It was Burton's idea, and he told it to me while we were going after Archie le Bon. Archie was to pretend to run with the machine, and I was to be with him. When the machine got to going too fast for us, Archie was to drop to one side and I was to spring to the lower wing. Your back would be in my direction, and you couldn't see me."
"That wasn't like you, Haidee," said Matt.
"Are you mad?"
"What's the use of being put out with you? I'll have something to say to Burton and Le Bon when I get back to the grounds."
"You thought you were doing something to help me—I know that—but you didn't understand I was perfectly able to carry out my part of the programme. As it is now, I came along and you couldn't help yourself. Are you going to try and keep me from dropping under the machine with the trapeze?"
"No," was the grim reply, "now that you are here you can go on with your work. Hold to the hand grip on the edge of the plane while you unlash the bar."
Perfectly cool, and in complete command of her nerves, Haidee knelt on the foot-rest, clinging to the plane with one hand while she unlashed the trapeze bar with the other.
"I'm ready, Motor Matt," said Haidee.
She was sitting on the edge of the seat, holding the bar in both hands.
Matt had brought theCometto an even keel, some fifty feet over the show grounds. They were traveling about thirty miles an hour—a snail's pace for theComet—and Matt was about to make a turn over the river and traverse the length of the grounds going the other way.
"Now, listen," said he to the girl. "I'm going to tilt theCometsharply upward and ascend for about fifty feet, then I'm going to reverse the position and descend for fifty feet in the same sharp angle. When we turn for the descent, Haidee, drop from the foot-rest when I give the word. The pull of your body, when it falls, will drag on the machine, but never mind that—hang on and don't get scared. As soon as I can I will bring the machine to a level. Understand?"
"Yes."
"And another thing. While you're moving on the bar, just remember to do it quietly and easily. You've seen the two Japs at work in the show, I know. When the big fellow balances the pole on his shoulder, and the little fellow goes up, every move is made as though there would be a smash if they were not careful."
"I understand," said the girl.
The machine had been brought around and was heading toward the grounds. Matt twisted the small forward planes, which laid the course for ascending or descending. At the same time he speeded up the motor.
TheCometpointed upward; then, at the top of her course, was as quickly turned and aimed toward the earth.
Matt caught a glimpse of a sea of upturned faces. The machine was rushing downward at a frightful pace.
"Now!" shouted Matt.
He saw the girl poise birdlike on the foot-rest, then sink from it with the trapeze. So great was the slant of the aëroplane that she seemed to fall forward.
There was a jar as the bar reached the end of the ropes, and, with the girl's weight, was caught and held. TheCometmade an erratic wabble and lurched sideways like a great bird, wounded on the wing.
Haidee withstood the jolt admirably, and Matt twirled the lever operating the steering planes.
Sounds from the earth always reach aëronauts with startling distinctness. The shouts of consternation which came from the throats of the spectators could be heard, and also the murmur of relief as theCometrighted herself, and the trapeze and the girl swung back under the machine.
Controlling the aëroplane was always more difficult when there was a weight suspended beneath, but Matt had counted upon this, and he forced theCometback and forth over the show grounds, holding the machine fairly steady.
Three times he and Haidee circled over the "tops" with their gay streamers, cheer upon cheer following them from below.
Matt had been in the air more than fifteen minutes, and he was just manœuvring toward the starting and stopping point, when the cheers were suddenly turned tocries of fear and alarm. He could see the people below waving their arms and pointing upward.
For an instant the young motorist's heart sank. He felt sure that something had gone wrong with the girl.
This conviction had hardly formed before it was dissipated. A smell of smoke came to his nostrils, and to his ears a crackle of flames. Matt turned his head.
The left wing of the aëroplane was on fire!
A thrill of horror shot through him. In the air, he and Haidee, with a blazing flying machine alone between them and death! The very thought was enough to wrench the stoutest nerves.
"Haidee!" yelled Matt.
"Yes," came the stifled response, from underneath theComet.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"Hang to the bar—don't lose your nerve!"
Matt's mind was grappling with the complex situation. To get safely to the ground in the shortest possible time was the problem that confronted him.
How the wing had caught fire he did not know, and had not the time even to guess. It sufficed that the plane was ablaze, and that the longer it blazed and ate into the fabric the less resistance the plane made to the atmosphere. And it was this resistance that spelled life for the king of the motor boys and the girl!
To drop the blazing aëroplane into that sea of heads below meant injury to some of the spectators. Matt must avoid this and reach the earth in the roped-off lane from which the ascent had been made.
He put the clamps on his nerves, and, with brain perfectly clear, drove the aëroplane about at a sharp angle.
Then, if ever, the machine was true to its name, for as it darted onward, the smoke and flame that streamed out behind must have given it the look of a comet.
Could he drop to earth, the young motorist was asking himself, before the fire struck either of the gasoline tanks?
Motor Matt, as he coaxed the last ounce of speed from the motor, shouted encouragingly to the terrified girl on the trapeze.
Suddenly, below him opened the narrow lane roped off along the road. A buzz of excited voices echoed in his ears. With steady hand he shut off the power and glided downward.
"Drop from the bar and run, Haidee," he shouted, "as soon as we come close to the ground."
There was a response from the girl, but the clamor of the crowd prevented him from hearing what it was.
The next moment the blazing aëroplane settled into the road and glided along on the bicycle wheels.
McGlory, Carl, and Ping were on hand, the cowboy in charge of a detachment of canvasmen with buckets. A hiss of steam, as water struck the flames, rose in the air.
"Careful!" cried Matt, restraining the impetuous assault of the fire fighters. "Don't climb over the machine and damage it! Keep them back, Joe! Here, some of you, drench the wings on the right side and keep the fire from spreading."
Ably directed by Matt and McGlory, the fire was extinguished. Leaving the damaged aëroplane in charge of Carl and Ping, Matt limped off toward the calliope tent, accompanied by his cowboy chum.
WAS IT TREACHERY?
"Where's Haidee?" asked Matt.
"Oh, bother the girl!" cried McGlory savagely.
Matt turned on him with a surprised look.
"What's the matter with you, pard?" he asked.
"Well, it's apples to ashes that I was never so badly shaken up in my life before as I am this minute. Sufferin' Judas! Say, I'd never have believed it."
The crowd was dense. Some of the people were moving off toward the city, some were making for the side-show, and others were trying to get close to the king of the motor boys. Matt, having just finished a sensational flight, was an object of curiosity and admiration.
Neither he nor McGlory paid any attention to the demonstration around them, but moved briskly onward toward the calliope tent.
"I can't rise to you, Joe," said the puzzled Matt. "What's on your mind?"
"Something more'n my hat, and you can bet your moccasins on that."
"Where did Haidee go?"
"That leather-faced tinhorn uncle of hers grabbed her and took her away the minute she dropped from the trapeze."
"She wasn't hurt, was she?"
"I didn't take any trouble to find out. She walked off spry enough."
McGlory was gruff to the point of incivility. It was evident to Matt that he had been mightily stirred.
"What's the matter with you?" demanded Matt.
"Wait till we get into the calliope tent, and out of this crowd and the dust—then I'll tell you."
"Didn't you discover the trick Boss Burton played on me with the help of Haidee and Le Bon, Joe?"
"Oh, speak to me about that!" snarled the cowboy. "Nary, I didn't, pard, until it was too everlastin'ly late to stop the run of the cards. Burton! We've got a bone to pick with him; and, after it's picked, I feel like cramming it down his throat. He was bound to have the girl go up, and he worked it in his sneaking, underhand way! I don't like this layout, Matt. You've had the closest call that's ever come your way since you took to flying. Sufferin' cats! Say, my heart was in my throat all the while I was looking on. I was expecting that any minute the fire would reach the gasoline, that both tanks would let go, and that you, and the girl, and theCometwould all be wiped out in a big noise and a splotch of flame."
By this time they had reached the calliope tent, and were able to duck inside and get away from the crowd.
The calliope was there, and filling the larger part of the interior. The big steam organ was shrouded in a canvas cover, and only the lower rims of the wagon wheels on which it was mounted were to be seen.
Matt dropped down on a heap of straw and leaned back wearily against a side pole. McGlory threw himself down beside him, his face thoughtful and angry.
"I hadn't any notion Burton was running in a rhinecaboo," said the cowboy presently, "until theComethad jumped into the air and I had looked back and seen Le Bon near the place from which the machine had started. When I turned and looked at you and theComet, there was the Haidee girl perched on the lower wing, throwin'kisses to the crowd. I knew then that Burton had turned his trick, and I lammed loose a yell; but there was too much noise for you to hear it. I kept my eyes on the aëroplane and the girl and—and I saw something then that made my hair curl later when the fire broke out."
"What was it?" asked Matt.
"Haidee, pushing something out on the left-hand wing and jabbing it down there with a hatpin, so it would stay."
"We must have been three or four hundred feet away from you, Joe," returned Matt, "and how could you see it was a hatpin?"
McGlory sat up, opened the front of his coat, and drew a blistered hatpin out of the lining.
"I hunted around under the machine, while we were fighting the fire," he explained, "and picked up that. So, you see, I know it was a hatpin."
A frown crossed Matt's face.
"What do you make out of that move of Haidee's?" he asked.
"She pinned a ball of something soaked in oil to the wing and touched it off," averred McGlory. "It smouldered for a while and then blazed up and set fire to the canvas."
"Joe," returned Matt incredulously, "you must be mistaken. I've always been a friend of Haidee's. Why should she want to destroy theComet, or me? When you come to that, why should she want to take her own life? That's virtually what it would have amounted to if the fire had reached the gasoline tanks."
"Who could have started the fire, if it wasn't the girl?" demanded McGlory. "She was the one."
Matt was nonplused. His cowboy chum seemed to have drawn a correct inference, but the supposition was so preposterous the king of the motor boys could take no stock in it.
"We've got to use a little common sense, Joe," insisted Matt. "The girl wouldn't have the least motive in the world for trying to do such a thing as set fire to theComet!"
"We've got to bank on what we see," answered McGlory, "no matter whether we want to believe our eyes or not. Look at it! Haidee comes to the aëroplane for the parade like a wooden figure of a girl, moving like a puppet worked by strings. Suddenly she flashes out of her locoed condition and pulls a lever that slams theCometagainst Rajah's heels. Well, we protected the girl from that because we believed she was having one of her 'spells.' She came out of the spell all of a sudden and lopes down to where the aëroplane stands ready for the start. She seems as well as ever, and begs to go up on the trapeze. A trick is played on us, and shedoesgo up. Then, once more, she gets theCometinto trouble. I can't savvy the blooming layout, but I'm keen to know that some one is starting in to do us up. And Haidee is one of our enemies."
Just then Boss Burton pushed into the tent. He was nervous and cast furtive glances at Motor Matt.
"Great business!" he exclaimed. "Le Bon got juggled out of the ascension, after all, and Haidee, the sly minx! did her stunt on the trapeze, just as she had planned. How in the world did the machine take fire? Crossed wires, or something?"
"You need not try to dodge responsibility, Burton," said Matt sharply. "You put up the trick that was played on me."
"On my honor, King——"
"Don't talk that way," interrupted Matt. "Come out flat-footed and admit it."
"Well," grinned Burton, a little sheepishly, "if you put it that way, I'll have to acknowledge the corn. But the girl was clear-headed, wasn't she? She didn't fall off the trapeze, and she pulled off some hair-raising tricks on that flying bar that set the crowd gasping. It was the biggest novelty in the way of an act that any show ever put up. Results will show at the ticket wagon this afternoon. Too confoundedly bad, though, that the thing should have been marred by that fire. How long will it take you to fix up the machine? Can you do it in time for an ascent to-night? I've planned to have Haidee shoot off skyrockets from the trapeze, and Roman candles, and all that."
"You'll have to cut out the fireworks, Burton," said Matt dryly. "It will take a full day to repair theComet."
Burton "went up in the air" on the instant.
"Think of the loss!" he exclaimed. "You've got to repair the machine in time for the ascent this evening. If it's a matter of men, King, I'll give you a dozen to help."
"It's not a matter of men," said Matt. "Joe and I are the only ones who can work on theComet. And listen to this—I mean it, and if you don't like it we'll break our contract right here—Haidee has gone up with me for the last time. I'll take Archie le Bon, or any one else you want to send, but not Haidee."
"Is this what you call treating me square?" fumed Burton.
"Sufferin' Ananias!" grunted McGlory. "You're a nice lame duck to talk about being treated square! You've got a treacherous outfit, Burton, and Pard Matt and I are not beginning to like it any too well."
Matt, thinking McGlory might tell what Haidee had done, gave him a restraining look.
"You're responsible for the trouble that overtook theComet, Burton," proceeded Matt.
"Me?" echoed the showman, aghast. "Well, I'd like to know how you figure it."
"Through your schemes, and over my protest, Haidee made the ascent with me."
"I'll admit that."
"If she hadn't made the ascent, there'd have been no fire."
"Do you mean to say——"
"Now, don't jump at any conclusions. I know what I'm talking about when I tell you that there'd have been no fire if Haidee hadn't made the ascent with me. That isn't saying, mark you, that the girl is to blame for what happened. Would she want to burn the aëroplane and drop herself and me plump into the show grounds? If——"
Just then a weird thing happened. The calliope gave a sharp clatter of high notes.
All present in the tent gave astounded attention to the canvas-covered music box.
"Spooks!" grinned Joe.
"There was enough steam left in the calliope to play a few notes," suggested Burton.
"But the notes couldn't play themselves," said Matt, and made a rush for the calliope.
The keyboard was in one end of the calliope wagon,and the canvas was draped over the chair occupied by the operator when the steam wagon was in use.
With a pull, Matt jerked aside the canvas that covered the rear of the calliope, and there, crouching in a chair, was Ben Ali!
A CALL FOR HELP.
"Well, sizzlin' thunderbolts!" gasped the amazed Burton.
At first, Ben Ali sat blinking at those before him, apparently too dazed to move.
"He's an eavesdropper!" cried McGlory, "and this ain't the first time we've caught him at it, either. Grab him, Matt! Wring that thin neck of his!"
Ben Ali regained his wits, then, and very suddenly. With a panther-like spring, he cleared the wagon on the side opposite that where Motor Matt was standing, dodged McGlory, who tried to head him off, shook a glittering knife in Boss Burton's face, and vanished under the wall of the menagerie tent. It was all so neatly done that the three in the calliope lean-to were left staring at each other in helpless astonishment.
McGlory rushed furiously at the menagerie tent wall, lifted the canvas, then dropped it and rushed back.
"Not for me!" he breathed. "Rajah is right there, teetering back and forth from side to side, and winding his trunk around everything in sight."
"Where was Ben Ali?" demanded Burton, a glitter rising in his eyes.
"Getting out under the cages on the other side of the tent," replied McGlory. "I'll see if I can't head him off."
With that the cowboy shot out of the lean-to. Matt didn't think the effort to catch Ben Ali worth while, and once more dropped down on the pile of straw.
For a few moments Boss Burton walked back and forth in front of him, hands behind his back, head bowed in thought, and a black frown on his face. Abruptly he halted in front of Matt.
"The infernal Hindoo drew a knife on me!" he scowled.
Matt nodded. The fact had been too plain to call for comment.
"I'd pull the pin on Ben Ali in half a minute," continued Boss Burton, "if it wasn't for Haidee."
"Where did you pick up Ben Ali and Haidee?" inquired Matt.
"In Wisconsin," was the answer, "just as the show was starting out of its winter quarters. Rajah had run amuck, wounded a horse, smashed a wagon, and come within an ace of killing his keeper. Ben Ali applied for the job of looking after him, and I let him have it. He's been the only one, so far, who could take care of Rajah."
"Where did the girl come in?"
"She came in with her uncle, of course. Ben Ali said his niece was good on the flying bar, and he brought her to see me. When she came she was in one of her spells, and looked and acted like a puppet, with some one pulling the wires. I wasn't much impressed with her, but gave her a try-out. She recovered from the spell and acted just as she did to-day, when she went up with theComet—perfectly natural. She gave a good performance—mighty good—and I made a deal with her uncle. That's the way I got tangled up with the pair. Why?"
The showman transfixed Matt with a curious glance.
"Oh, nothing," said Matt carelessly. "The Hindoo and the girl have always been something of a mystery to me, and I wanted to find out what you knew about them. Where did they come from?"
"Give it up. I never look into the past of people who hire out to me. If they're capable, and do their work, that's enough. From what McGlory said, and from what I've seen, Ben Ali appears to have been sneaking around here, listening to what you and your friends were saying. If he hadn't inadvertently touched the keyboard of the calliope we shouldn't have known he was under the cover. Have you any notion what he means by that sort of work?"
"No."
"Well, it's deuced queer, and that's all I can say. Do you think he ought to be bounced?"
"Yes, but I wouldn't do it."
"On Haidee's account?"
"Partly that; partly, too, because, if you keep him on the pay roll, we may be able to learn something about him and the girl. I'm a bit curious about them, Burton."
"It's a bad habit—this of getting too curious. It's dollars and cents for me to have the two with the show. What's more," and his remarks took a more personal turn, "it's money in my pocket to have theCometgo up this afternoon with Haidee shooting Roman candles from the trapeze. When are you going to get busy with the repairs?"
"After I eat something."
"Well, rush the work, Matt. Do the best you can."
"It won't be Haidee who rides the trapeze next time theComettakes to the air," said the king of the motor boys firmly.
"Well, Archie le Bon, then," returned Burton, with much disappointment.
As he went out, McGlory came in, passing him in the entrance.
"Nothing doing," reported the cowboy. "Where the Hindoo went is a conundrum. I couldn't find anybody about the grounds who had even seen him since he walked Haidee away from the burning aëroplane."
While McGlory, disgusted with his ill success and the turn events were taking, there on the banks of the Wabash, slumped down on a bucket and mopped his perspiring face, Motor Matt dropped into a brown study.
"These Hindoos are crafty fellows, Joe," he remarked, after a while. "They're clever at a great many things we Americans don't understand anything about. I knew one of them once. He was the servant of a man who happened to be the uncle of one of the finest young fellows that ever stepped—brave Dick Ferral. This particular Hindoo I was able to study at close range."
"What are you leading up to by this sort of talk?" asked McGlory, cocking his head on one side and squinting his eyes.
He had this habit when anything puzzled him.
"I'm leading up to the element of mystery that hangs over the events of to-day. India is a land of mystery. The people are a dreamy set, and now and then one ofthem will go off into the woods, or the desert, and spend several years as a devotee. When he comes back to civilization again he's able to do wonderful things. I've heard that these fakirs can throw a rope into the air and that it will hang there; and that they can make a boy climb the rope, up, and up, until he disappears. Then rope, boy, and all but the fakir will vanish."
"Fakes," grunted Joe. "Such things ain't in reason, pard. You know what a fakir is in this country, and I reckon he's not much better in India."
"Of course it's a fake," said Matt, "but it's a pretty smooth piece of magic. The Hindoo devotees could give Hermann and all the other magicians cards and spades and then beat them out."
"I'm blamed if I can see yet where all this talk of yours leads to."
"I'm only, what you might call, thinking out loud," laughed Matt. "Haidee's actions puzzle me. Her uncle is a Hindoo, and he may be an adept in magic. If he is, just how much has the girl's queer actions to do with Ben Ali? It's something to think about. I'm glad Burton isn't going to cut loose from the Hindoo and the girl. The more I see of them, the more curious I'm becoming."
"Ben Ali, pard," grinned McGlory, "is a little bit curious about us, I reckon, from the way he's pryin' around. How do you account for that?"
Matt shook his head.
"I can't account for it, Joe, but perhaps we'll be able to do so later." He got up. "How about something to eat?" he asked. "We'll have to have dinner, then take something to the boys, and get busy patching up the aëroplane."
"Did you ever know me to shy at a meal?" asked McGlory, promptly getting up. "We'll hit the chuck layout, and then——"
It was nearly time for the doors to open, and inside and out the two big "tops" there was a bustle of preparation. The "spielers" in the ticket stands at the side-show were yelling, people were crowding about the ticket wagon, where they were to buy pasteboards admitting them to the "big show," and a band was playing in the road beyond the grounds.
Above all these various sounds there came a call, wild and frantic. It reached the ears of the two boys in the calliope tent with strange distinctness, and cut McGlory short while he was talking.
"Helup! Helup, somepody, or I vas a goner!"
The cowboy gave a jump for the door, only a foot or two behind Matt.
"Was that your Dutch pard?" cried McGlory.
"It was his voice, plain enough," answered Matt, looking around sharply.
"What could have gone wrong with him?"
"I can't imagine—here, in broad daylight, with the grounds full of people."
"It's trouble of the worst kind if we're to take the words as they sounded."
Matt believed this fully. Carl Pretzel was not the lad to give a false alarm, and he had clearly put his whole heart into the words Matt and McGlory had heard.
"Where did the call come from?" went on McGlory, mystified.
"It seemed to come from everywhere, and from nowhere," replied Matt. "Look into the menagerie tent, Joe."
While McGlory was lifting the canvas and taking a look through the animal show, Matt rounded the outside of the lean-to, searching every place with keen eyes.
Carl was nowhere to be found. As Matt drifted back toward the door of the calliope tent, McGlory emerged and joined him.
"He's not mixed up with the animals," reported the cowboy.
"And I can't get any trace of him out here," said Matt. "Let's walk over to the aëroplane. Carl and Ping were to watch the machine, and I'm pretty sure neither of them would leave it without orders unless something pretty serious had gone wrong."
Vaguely alarmed, the two chums pushed their way through the crowd toward the place where theComethad been left.
BLACK MAGIC.
While the parade was passing through town, Carl had been "sleuthing." The fact that he was wearing McGlory's working clothes gave him an idea. He didn't look like himself, so why not be some one else? All the detective books he had ever read had a good deal to say about disguises. Carl was already disguised, so he made up his mind that he would be a dago laborer.
After watching the parade file out of the show grounds, he slouched over to the side-show tent. A man was just finishing lacing the picture of a wild man to the guy ropes. Carl shuffled up to him.
"I peen der Idaliano man," he remarked, in a wonderful combination of Dutch and Italian dialect, "und I, peen make-a der look for a leedl-a gal mit der name oof Manners. Haf-a you seen-a der girl aroundt loose some-a-veres?"
The canvasman looked Carl over, and then, being of a grouchy disposition, and thinking Carl was trying to make fun of him, he gave him a push that landed him against a banner containing a painted portrait of the elastic-skin man. The banner was even more elastic than the image it bore on its surface, for Carl rebounded and struck one of the "barkers," who happened to be passing with his hands full of ice-cream cones for the bearded lady and the Zulu chief.
Disaster happened. The "barker" fell, with the Dutch "tedectif" on top of him—and the ice-cream cones in between.
The "barker" indulged in violent language, and began using his hands. Carl was pretty good at that himself, and retaliated. Two canvasmen pulled the two apart. Carl had the contents of a cone in his hair, and the "barker" had the contents of another down the back of his neck.
"Where'd that ijut come from?" yelled the "barker," dancing up and down among the broken cones.
"Who left der cage toor oben?" cried Carl, digging at his hair. "Der papoon vas esgaped."
"You put up your lightning rod," growled the "barker," "or you'll git hit with a large wad of electricity."
"Come on mit it!" whooped Carl, fanning the air withhis fists. "No vone can make some ice-gream freezers oudt oof me mitoudt hafing drouples!"
"That'll do you," snorted the canvasman who had hold of Carl, and thereupon raced him for twenty feet and gave him a shove that turned him head over heels across a guy rope.
"Dot's der vay," mourned Carl, picking himself up and gathering in his hat. "Der tedectif pitzness comes by hardt knocks, und nodding else. Vere can I do some more?"
His head felt cold and uncomfortable, even after he had mopped it dry with a red cotton handkerchief.
He went over to the horse tent. The tent was nearly empty, all the live stock except a trick mule being in the parade. The mule would not have been there, but he was too tricky to trust in the procession. A man with a red shirt, and his sleeves rolled up, sat on a bale of hay close to the mule. The man was smoking.
"Hello, vonce," flagged Carl.
"Hello yourself," answered the man.
"I peen some Idaliano mans," remarked Carl, "und I vas make-a der look for Markaret Manners, yes. Haf-a you seen-a der gal?"
"Take a sneak," said the man.
"She iss-a leedle-a gal aboudt so high, yes," and Carl put out his hand. "I peen-a der poor Idaliano man, aber I gif-a you fife tollars, py shiminy, oof-a you tell-a me where-a der gal iss."
"You can't josh me," went on the man earnestly. "Hike, before I knock off your block."
Carl continued to stand his ground and ask questions; then, the next thing he knew, the hostler had jumped up and rushed for him. Carl sprang back to get out of the way, unfortunately pushing against the hind heels of the mule. The mule knew what to do, in the circumstances, and did it with vigor.
Carl was kicked against the man with the pipe, and that worthy turned a back somersault as neatly as any "kinker" belonging to the show.
The Dutch boy limped hastily around the end of the horse tent and crawled into an empty canvas wagon. The mule's heels had struck him with the force of a battering-ram, and he felt weak up and down the small of the back. Besides, the wagon was a good place in which to hide from the hostler.
Cautiously he watched over the wagon's side. The hostler came around the side of the tent, looked in all directions, and then retired, muttering, in the direction of the bale of hay.
Carl chuckled as he dropped down on a roll of extra canvas, but the chuckle died in a whimper as he became conscious of his sore spots.
"I vonder how Cherlock Holmes efer lifed to do vat he dit," he murmured, curling up on the canvas. "Der tedectif pitzness iss hit und miss from vone end to der odder, und den I don'd get some revards. Meppy I vill shleep und forged id."
When Carl woke up, he looked over the side of the wagon and saw a burning flying machine in the air, and he heard the wild yells of the crowd. Probably it was the yelling that awoke him.
"Py shinks," he cried, "dot's my bard, Modor Matt! He iss purnin' oop mit himseluf. Fire! Fire! Helup!" and Carl rolled out of the wagon and raced toward the spot where the machine seemed to be coming down.
McGlory, white-faced but determined, was marshaling a lot of men with buckets of water. Carl dropped in. When the machine landed, he set to with the rest and helped extinguish the flames.
Then, after he had congratulated Matt, Carl and Ping were placed on guard.
In spite of the fact that Carl had shaken hands with Ping, he continued to have very little use for the Chinaman. And Ping, to judge from appearances, had no more use for the Dutchman. They did not speak. One sat down on one side of the machine and the other sat down on the other. Then a brown man, wearing an embroidered coat and a turban, drove up on a small cage wagon drawn by one horse. He got off the wagon and stepped up to Carl.
"How-do, sahib?" said the man.
Carl remembered him. He was the fellow who had been dozing on Rajah's back at the river. Also he was the man who had taken charge of the girl who had dropped off the trapeze when the burning aëroplane came down.
Carl had a startling thought—it flashed over him like an inspiration.
"How you vas?" answered the Dutch boy genially.
"You come 'long with Ben Ali," said the man.
"Nod on your dindype," replied Carl. "I vas vatching der machine for Modor Matt."
"You come!" hissed Ben Ali.
Then Carl noted something very remarkable. The Hindoo's eyes began to blaze, and dance, and show wonderful lights in their depths.
"Shtop mit it!" said Carl. "You peen a mesmerizer, und I don'd like dot."
Carl knew he couldn't be hypnotized against his will, but the Hindoo's eyes were working havoc with his nerves.
"You come!"
The words of Ben Ali were imperative. Carl, seemingly unable to remove his own eyes from the Hindoo's, followed as Ben Ali retreated toward the wagon. At the end of the wagon Ben Ali made some passes with his hands in front of Carl's face, then opened the door.
"You get in, sahib!"
Carl climbed into the wagon mechanically. Slam went the door and click went a key in the padlock.
TheComethad come down from its disastrous flight at a considerable distance from the tents. There were no people in the immediate vicinity save Ping.
The little Chinaman, on hands and knees under the lower wing of the aëroplane, was watching covertly all that took place.
After locking the door of the cage wagon, Ben Ali took a cautious look around him. He saw no one.
Climbing up on one of the forward wheels, he took a slouch hat and a long linen duster from the seat, removed his embroidered coat and his turban, got into the hat and duster, climbed to the seat, picked up the reins, and drove off.
Ping had seen it all, but had made no attempt to interfere. And he made no attempt now.
He did not like the "Dutchy boy." He was afraid Carl would take away from him his job with Motor Matt.
It was with secret rejoicing, therefore, that the Chinaman saw Carl locked in the wagon and hauled away.
"Hoop-a-la!" chattered Ping, as he returned to his place and once more went on watch.
The wagon used by Ben Ali, on this momentous occasion, was technically known as the monkey wagon. Two of the monkeys had eaten something which did not agree with them, and had died in Indianapolis. The three that remained had been taken out and put in another cage, with a collection known as "The Happy Family." This, of course, left the monkey wagon empty.
Burton was figuring on using it for one of the ant-eaters, but there were some repairs to be made before the wagon could be put to that use. The repairs dragged, and so Ben Ali found his opportunity to use the cage.
Straight across the show grounds drove the disguised Hindoo. None of the employees who saw him recognized him or questioned his right to use the monkey wagon. Different gangs had different duties, and no one knew but that this strange driver was off to town on some important mission.
Ben Ali drove within a hundred feet of the calliope tent. When he was well beyond it, a yell came from inside the wagon.
"Helup! Helup, somepody, or I vas a goner!"
A shiver ran through Ben Ali. He made ready to leap from the wagon, but thought better of it when he saw that the call had attracted no attention and was not repeated.
"Sahib keep still!" he called, kicking the end of the wagon with his heels.
And thus, with not a sound coming from the interior of the monkey wagon, the artful Hindoo adept drove into the road and headed the horse away from the town and into the country.
THE MAHOUT'S FLIGHT.
When Matt and McGlory, hurrying to the aëroplane to make inquiries concerning Carl, came within sight of Ping, they saw him calmly occupied twirling a set of jackstones.
"Ping!" called Matt.
"Awri'!" answered Ping, slipping the jackstones into a pocket of his blouse and immediately getting up.
"Where's Carl?"
"Dutchy boy no good. Him lun away."
"Run away?" echoed McGlory. "Here's a slam! When and how, Ping?"
"Ben Ali dlive 'lound in wagon. Him say to Dutchy boy, 'You come.' Dutchy boy makee come chop-chop. Ben Ali shuttee do', put on Melican coat, Melican hat, makee dlive off. Woosh! Dutchy boy no good."
This offhand description of what had happened to Carl was received with startled wonder by Matt and McGlory.
"When was this?" demanded Matt.
"Plaps fi' minit, plaps ten minit. No gottee clock, Motol Matt; no savvy time."
"You say Ben Ali drove up in a wagon?"
"Dlive up in monkey wagon. Put Dutchy boy in monkey wagon."
"And then he locked Carl inside?"
"Allee same."
"And took off his turban and embroidered coat and replaced them with another hat and coat?"
"Melican hat, plenty long coat."
"Wouldn't that rattle your spurs, pard?" murmured McGlory.
"What did Ben Ali do?" went on Matt, resolved to get at the bottom of the matter, if possible.
"Him makee funny look with eye," replied Ping. "By Klismus! him blame' funny look. One piecee devil shine in eye."
"Hypnotized!" grunted McGlory.
"You can't easily hypnotize a person against his will," averred Matt. "It's not hard to guess that Carl was a good way from being willing to go with Ben Ali."
"What the dickens did Ben Ali want to run off Carl for?" queried McGlory.
"This business gets more and more mysterious, Joe," returned Matt, "the farther we go into it."
"And that yell we heard!"
"That certainly came from Carl. Ben Ali must have driven past the calliope tent while we were talking inside. The fact that Carl gave a yell for help proves that he wasn't wholly hypnotized."
"He may have come out from under the influence just long enough to give a whoop," suggested the cowboy.
"Let's go back and hunt up Burton," said Matt. "He'll want his monkey wagon, and, of course, we've got to get hold of Carl."
"It's news to discover that Ben Ali is a hypnotist," observed McGlory, as he and Matt whirled and started to retrace the ground over which they had just passed.
"I told you these Hindoos were a crafty set," answered Matt.
The doors were open and the crowd was vanishing inside the big tents. The grounds were not so congested with people as they had been, and it was easier to get about and hunt for Burton.
As it chanced, they ran plump into the manager just as they were rounding the dressing tent at the end of the circus "top."
Burton was red and perspiring, and there was wrath in his face.
"I've been looking all around for you fellows," he cried. "You can run one of these here buzz-wagons, can't you, Matt?"
"Yes," replied Matt, "but——"
"Come along," interrupted Burton, grabbing Matt by the arm, "we haven't any time to spare."
"Wait!" protested Matt, drawing back. "Have you seen——"
"Can't wait," fumed Burton. "I've hired a chug-car; and there's a race on. Haidee has skipped. Aurung Zeeb, one of the other Hindoo mahouts, has helped her get away. They've taken my runabout. Confound such blooming luck, anyhow!"
Here was news, and no mistake. Ben Ali running off with Carl, and Aurung Zeeb taking to the open with the showman's Kentucky cob and rubber-tired buggy!
"Do you know where Aurung Zeeb and Haidee went?" asked Matt.
"I haven't the least notion," was the wrathful answer, "but we've got to find them. I don't care a straw about Zeeb, or the girl, but that runabout rig is worth six hundred dollars, just as it stands."
"Well, if you don't know which way the rig went," argued Matt, "it's foolish to go chasing them and depending on luck to point the way."
"We've got to do something!" declared Burton.
"Where's Ben Ali?"
"Oh, hang Ben Ali! I haven't seen him since he flashed that knife in my face."
"We've just discovered," proceeded Matt, "that he has skipped out, too, and taken your monkey wagon along."
"Sure of that?"
"Ping just told us. Not only that, Burton, but he took my Dutch pard—the lad that came this morning—with him. Carl was locked in the cage."
"Worse and worse," ground out Burton. "How'd Ben Ali ever manage to do that?"
"On the face of it, I should say that Ben Ali had hypnotized Carl."
"Nonsense! What does an elephant driver know about hypnotism? Still, this begins to look like a comprehensive plan to steal a monkey wagon and a runabout and leave me in the lurch. What do you think of that Haidee girl to do a thing like this? She seemed mighty anxious to earn money, yet here she skips out with about a hundred in cash to her credit."
"It's hard to understand the turn events have taken," said Matt. "But I wouldn't blame Haidee too much until you know more about her—and about Ben Ali."
"I want my horses and my rolling stock," fretted Burton. "The rest of the outfit can go hang, if I get back the plunder."
"You said something about an automobile," said Matt.
"There's a car here, and the man that owns it is seeing the show. He said I could have the use of the car all afternoon for fifty dollars. He thought I was an easy mark, and I let him think so. He's got the money and I've got the car. After he'd gone inside, I happened to remember that I couldn't run the thing, so I chased off looking for you. Here we are," and the three, who had been walking in the direction of the road, came to the side of a large automobile.
It was a good machine, with all of six cylinders under the hood.
"If you're a mind reader, and can tell where we ought to go, Burton," said Motor Matt, "I'll get you there. I feel right at home when I'm in the driver's seat of a motor car."
"Wait till I ask somebody," and Burton whirled and flew away.
"Gone to have some fortune teller read his palm," laughed McGlory. "Oh, but he's wild when he gets started."
"I don't blame him for worrying," said Matt. "He was offered four hundred, spot cash, for that Kentucky cob, in Indianapolis. Shouldn't wonder if he stood to lose a thousand dollars if the runaways can't be overhauled. And he hasn't much time to overhaul them, either, Joe. The three sections of the show train have got to be on the move toward South Bend by three in the morning. I'm worried some myself, on Carl's account. What has that crafty mahout got at the back of his head? I wish I knew. You and I are going to stay right here in Lafayette until we can find out something about Carl."
"Sure we are," agreed the cowboy heartily. "But here comes Burton, and he looks as though he'd found out something."
"One of the canvasmen," announced Burton breathlessly, as he came up with the boys, "says that he saw the monkey wagon heading south into the country. Can't find out which way the runabout headed, but we'll take after the other outfit. Get in and drive the machine for all you're worth."
Matt passed around in front, and was pleased with the business-like manner in which the motor took up its cycle.
"Here's where we throw in the high-speed clutch and scoot," said Matt, settling into the driver's seat with a glad feeling tingling along his nerves. It had suddenly occurred to him that he would rather motor in a high-powered car than do anything else that had so far claimed his attention. In such a machine, "miles were his minions and distance his slave." "Here we go," he finished, and away bounded the car.
Matt took time to wonder at the nature of a plutocrat who, for fifty dollars, would trust such a beautiful piece of mechanism in the hands of a showman. But the fact was accomplished, and guesses at the reason were futile.
They came to a hill—a steepish kind of a hill, too—and they went over it without a change of gear. Motor Matt laughed exultantly.
"Took it on the high speed!" he cried. "A car that can do that is a corker."
On the opposite side of the hill, as they were scorching down with the speedometer needle playing around the fifty-eight mark, a team and wagon containing a farmer and his family were almost backed off the road. Matt tampered with the brakes, but the car was going too fast to feel the bind of the brake grip.
"Never mind!" cried Burton, from his place at Matt's side. "That outfit is going to the show to-night. If I see 'em, I'll pass 'em all in with fifty-cent chairs. Now, boy, hit 'er up. I've got to recover my property before night sets in, and this may be a long chase."
"Long chase!" yelped McGlory derisively from the tonneau. "How can it be a long chase when we're going like this? Hang on to your hair, Burton! Mile-a-minute Matt's at the steering wheel."
THE PAPER TRAIL.
The coils hummed merrily to the six-cylinder accompaniment. The wind whistled and sang in the ears of the three who were plunging along at a speed which was bound to get them somewhere in short order.
Then, as might be expected, something happened. It was no accident to the car. The road spread apart in two equally well-traveled branches, and Matt shut off and came to a stop at the forks.
"The canvasman, of course," said the young motorist, looking around at Burton, "couldn't tell you which fork the monkey wagon would take."
"Here's a go!" muttered Burton. "If we take one fork, we may be hustling off on the wrong scent. At a guess, I should say take the right-hand branch."
"Let's not do any guessing until we have to," Matt returned. "My cowboy chum here is a good hand at picking up trails. Show us how they do it in Arizona, Joe."
McGlory was out of the car in a flash and giving his attention to the surface of the road.
"You might as well try to hunt for the print of a rabbit's foot in the trail of a herd of stampeded steers," said McGlory, after five precious minutes spent in fruitless examination.
"What sort of a cowboy are you, anyhow?" scoffed Burton.
"Well, look," answered McGlory. "The ground is all cut up with people coming to the show, and it's none too soft. I couldn't pick out the tread of a traction thrashing machine in all this jumble of prints."
"Any one coming on either road?" queried Burton, standing up and looking. "If there is, we could inquire as to whether they'd passed the monkey wagon."
"See any one?" asked Matt.
"Not a soul," and the showman plumped disappointedly down in his seat.
"Just a minute, Joe," interposed Matt, as the cowboy was about to climb back into the tonneau. "What's that white object in the road?" Matt pointed as he spoke. "There's one, just over the left-hand fork, and another beyond it."
"If you stop to bother with paper scraps," cried Burton, "we'll never get anywhere."
McGlory, however, turned back and picked up the object to which Matt had called his attention.
It was a scrap of paper, just as Burton had said. The scrap was a ragged square, as though it had been roughly torn, and measured about two inches across.
The cowboy examined it casually at first, then his face changed, and he gave it closer attention.
"My handwriting," he declared, looking up at Matt.
"How can that be?" scoffed Burton.
"I don't know how it can be," replied McGlory, "but it's a fact, all the same. I had a memorandum book, and have jotted down various things in it."
"Where'd you leave the memorandum book?" jested the showman impatiently; "in the monkey wagon?"
"Nary, I didn't. I left it in the hip pocket of my working clothes."
"And Carl had on the clothes!" exclaimed Matt, with a jubilant ring in his voice. "Carl must have scattered that trail for our benefit."
He stood up in the automobile and looked back over the road they had traveled.
"Why," he went on, "we haven't been as observing as we should have been. There's a paper trail, and Carl must have started it pretty soon after the monkey wagon left the show grounds."
"Well, well!" muttered Burton. "Say, Matt, that Dutch chum of yours is quite a lad, after all. The idea of his thinking of that."
"Carl always has his head with him," declared Matt. "Climb in, Joe. The left fork for ours."
McGlory pulled the crank, before he got in, for the stop had killed the engine.
"It's a cinch," said McGlory, as he resumed his place in the tonneau, "that Carl wasn't hypnotized when he dropped those scraps. Howcouldhe drop 'em? That's what beats me. Why, he was locked in, so Ping said."
"There was a hole in the floor," explained Burton. "Not a very big one, but big enough for an ant-eater to get a foot through. I was going to repair the cage, but haven't had time to attend to it."
"Why didn't Carl yell again?" went on McGlory. "If he had yelled long enough, and loud enough, some one would have been bound to hear him and stop Ben Ali."
"This is another case where Carl's using his head," put in Matt. "He's playing some dodge or other."
"He's showing up a whole lot stronger than I ever imagined he could," said the cowboy. "I had sized him up for a two-spot at any sort of headwork. Got my opinion, I reckon, from the way those Chicago detectives fooled him."
"He's not so slow as you imagine, Joe," said Matt. "Now keep an eye out for scraps!"
"We can't get into a scrap with those Hindoos any too quick to suit me," laughed McGlory, hanging out over the side of the motor car.
Once more the whirling, headlong rush of the car was resumed. No sooner had Burton, or McGlory, discovered a bit of white in the roadway ahead than it was lost to sight behind.
Then, after four or five miles of this, the three in the car raised an object, drawn up at the roadside, which brought the car to a halt. The object was the monkey wagon, horse gone from the shafts, rear door swinging open, and not a soul in the vicinity.
"Here's another queer twist," grumbled Burton, as all three got out to make a close survey of the wagon. "What do you think of it, Matt?"
Matt and McGlory thrust their heads in at the door.
"Phew!" gurgled the cowboy, drawing back. "There's a mineral well, in Lafayette, that's a dead ringer for the smell inside that cage wagon."
"I haven't had it swabbed out yet," apologized Burton.
"Here's the hole where Carl dropped out the paper scraps," Matt called, from inside the wagon.
"And here's something else, pard!" yelled McGlory.
Matt came out of the wagon and found his cowboy chum calling Burton's attention to marks in the road.
"What do you make of it, Joe?" asked Matt, coming closer.
"Well," answered McGlory, reading the "signs," "a one-horse buggy with rubber tires stopped here, alongside the monkey wagon. Look how the road's tramped up, ahead there. The horse was restive during the halt, and did some pawing."
"Great guns!" murmured Burton. "My runabout!"
"I think it's pretty clear now," observed Matt. "Aurung Zeeb and Haidee didn't get away at the same time Ben Ali and Carl did, or else they took a different course. Anyhow, they came up with the wagon. The runabout's faster, so the whole party went on with it."
"They might get three people into the runabout, by crowding," said Burton, "but they never could get four people into it."
"That's why the horse was taken from the monkey wagon," went on Matt. "Aurung Zeeb or Ben Ali must have ridden the animal."
"By Jove, King, I wish I had your head for getting at things! That was the way of it—itmusthave been the way of it. Let's pile back into the machine and hustle on."
They all felt that the chase was drawing to a close. The runabout was a faster vehicle than the monkey wagon, but there was not the ghost of a show for the Kentucky horse getting away from the automobile.
From that point on, the paper trail was not in evidence.
"Carl wasn't able to drop any more scraps," said Matt. "When he was inside the monkey wagon he was out of sight and could do about as he pleased; crowded into the runabout with Ben Ali and Haidee, and with Aurung Zeeb riding behind, he couldn't possibly drop a clue to guide us."
"The Dutchman seems to have taken it for granted that he'd be followed," hazarded Burton.
"He knows very well," returned Matt, "that I wouldn't stand around and let him worry through this run of hard luck alone. Look out for the runabout. The way I figure it, the rig can't be more than ten or fifteen minutes ahead of us."
"How do you figure it, Matt?" asked Burton.
"Well, from the time Joe and I heard Carl call for help. I don't believe it was more than half an hour from that time until we were hitting the high places with this automobile. Eh, Joe?"
"No more than that, pard," answered McGlory.
"I should think we'd have gained more than fifteen or twenty minutes on the Hindoos, the rate we've been coming," remarked Burton.
"Possibly we have. If that's so, then the runabout can't be even ten minutes ahead of us. Now——"
"Runabout!" yelled McGlory.
He was standing up in the tonneau and peering ahead. The road, at this point, was bordered with heavy timber on both sides, but in half a minute Matt and Burton could each see the vehicle to which the cowboy had called their attention.
It wasn't a runabout, as it proved, but a two-seated "democrat" wagon, drawn by a team, and conveying another party townward—presumably for the evening performance of the Big Consolidated.
McGlory's disappointment was keen. And his feelings, for that matter, were matched by those of Motor Matt and Burton.
Matt halted the automobile and, when the wagon came alongside, asked the driver if he had been passed by a runabout farther along the road.
The party had come five miles on that road and, according to the driver, hadn't been passed by anything on wheels going the other way.
For a space those in the automobile were in a quandary.
"What's amiss?" fumed Burton. "Are we on the wrong track, after all, in spite of your Dutch friend and his paper trail, and McGlory's reading the signs at the monkey wagon?"
Matt suddenly threw in the reverse and began to turn.
"Only one thing could have happened," he averred.
"What's that?"
"Why, the people in the runabout must have heard us coming and turned from the road into the woods."
"Let her out on the back track, then!" cried Burton. "If the Hindoos think they've dodged us, they've probably pulled out into the road and started the other way."
This seemed to have been the case, for three minutes speeding over the return trail brought those in the automobile in sight of the runabout.
This time itwasthe runabout, and no mistake, and the Kentucky cob was stretching out like a race horse under the frantic plying of a whip.
Burton reached behind him, under his coat, and brought a revolver into view.
"We'll find out about this business before we're many minutes older!" he exclaimed grimly.