Just at that moment, while he was bending over with the letter in his hand, a pencil of light leaped suddenly out of the gloom and rested full on him.
Straightening up suddenly, he whirled his face into the light.
For an instant his eyes were blinded, and he could see nothing.
"Quick!" he heard a husky voice mutter from somewhere in the darkness. "Down him and grab that letter!" The next instant a fist leaped out of the gloom and into the ray of light. Matt dropped downward, falling off the foot-board.
The fist hit him a glancing blow on the shoulder, and he toppled backward. At the same moment the letter was snatched out of his hand.
"Py shinks," came the voice of Carl, "vat vas going on, anyvay? Who you fellers vas? Keep avay from me, or——"
Running feet had sounded along the barn floor. While Carl was talking, some one ran into him and knocked him flat with a quick blow.
As the boy went down, two men bounded over him.
Carl was up almost as soon as he was down. Some one else was coming, and he flung out his hands and made a grab.
"Vaid a leedle!" he puffed savagely. "I gotyou, anyvay, und——"
"Let go, Carl!" came Matt's excited voice. "Take after those two men! See who they are, if you can!"
Carl gasped and withdrew his hands.
"Vell, oof it ain'd Matt!" he muttered. "So many t'ingsvas habbening, all in a punch, dot I peen all mixed oop in my mindt!"
With that, Carl rushed away in the direction taken by Matt.
THE TWO HORSEMEN.
The attack in the barn was so utterly unexpected and so suddenly made that Matt and Carl hardly realized what had happened until it was all over. Although a little dazed by the whirl of events, and still partly blinded by the gleam from the dark lantern, the king of the motor boys had his wits about him.
The letter was gone, but that was no great loss. The value of the letter lay in the use Matt had intended to make of it, by discovering who had placed it under the rubber mat in the tonneau. Such a discovery would have given the young motorist a clue as to who "James Trymore" really was.
Neither Matt nor Carl were very much damaged by their rough experience. In their rush from the barn they were only a few yards behind the men who had attacked them, and they would have been right on the others' heels if Carl had not made a mistake and caught hold of Matt just at the moment when there was no time for delay.
Matt, who was in the lead, heard a sound of running around the side, and toward the rear, of the barn. Flinging away in that direction, he came out on an alley, with the sounds he had been following abruptly blotted into silence. While he stood there, wondering which way the men had gone, a pounding of horses' hoofs jumped out of the stillness, somewhere to the left. He turned barely in time to see the forms of two mounted men melting away in the blank darkness.
Matt was disappointed. He had not expected to overtake the men, but he had hoped to come close enough so that he could get a fairly good look at them.
"Who vas dem fellers, anyvay, und vat vas der mix-oop aboudt?" came the voice of Carl as he pushed toward Matt through the gloom.
"That's too deep for me, Carl," returned Matt. "There were two of them, and they had their horses in the alley. One of them grabbed that Trymore letter just as I was going to put it in the car."
"Vell, der ledder don'd amount to nodding. Ve know vat it hat on der insite, und dot's plenty for us. Be jeerful."
"I guess I'll have to revise my opinion of Tomlinson. Neither of those horsemen could by any possibility have been him, and it's a cinch they were in the barn to get that letter. We blundered into their hands too slick for any use! As things look now, Carl, Tomlinson is straight goods."
"I t'ink he vas some skinflints, all righdt, aber dot's der vorst vat can be saidt oof Domlinson. Dose two fellers vas de vones vat dry to rop der car, hey?"
"They must have been."
"Und meppy vone vas Pringle! Der tinhorn vat cut loose from Wienerwurst! Say, I vish I could haf hanted him a cholt in der slats. I could blay ragdime moosic all ofer dat feller."
"We'll go back and take a look at the Red Flier," said Matt, "and make sure those two men haven't done anything to put the car out of business. This is a mighty puzzling proposition we're up against, and I can't make head or tail out of it. If Tomlinson didn't have anything to do with that letter, I can't understand how it got into the bottom of the tonneau. And if he was the one who put it there, why did those men come after it?"
"Tough luck, Matt, aber take it jeerfully," counseled Carl. "I haf hat more money come indo my hants since I peen hooked oop mit you dan I efer t'ought I vould ged a look ad in all my life. Dot's righdt. Dot pig ret car comes rolling righdt oop to us, invitationing us to grab holt und keep it—vich ve don'd. Den ve findt t'irty t'ousant tollars' vort oof bearls vich likevise say for us to cash dem in, go off py ourselufs und be rich und jeerful—vich also ve don'd. Oudt oof all dose shances, you pull down a huntert-tollar chob und I get a rite py Tenver. Ach, himmel!" and Carl heaved a long sigh.
Paying no attention to his comrade's regrets, Matt had been making his way back to the barn door. The excitement in and around the barn had not claimed the notice of any one in the hotel or on the street. What racket there was had been confined to a limited space and had evidently not been heard by the townspeople.
"Close the door, Carl," said Matt, as the Dutch boy followed him into the barn. "I saw a lantern on the wall, when we brought the machine in, and I'll light it while we look around."
Carl shut the door, and Matt struck a match, found the lantern, and lighted it.
"Nopody heardt vat vent on here," remarked Carl, while Matt was moving about the Red Flier. "Ve couldt haf peen laidt oudt for keeps mitoudt addracting any addention. Vy, oof dose fellers had vanted to, dey could haf shtole der car, py chiminy!"
"There ought to be some way to lock the barn," said Matt, "but, as there isn't, I have a notion to bunk down on the tonneau seat for the rest of the night."
"Oof you do dot," asserted Carl, "I vill keep along mit you."
"That would be foolish. All I want to do is to watch and see that those two horsemen don't come back."
"Two to watch is pedder as vone, Matt," answered Carl firmly. "Is der Red Flier hurt anyvere?"
"I can't see that the machine has been tampered with at all." He stepped around in front and "turned over" the engine. "Everything appears to be just as we left it," he added, "so I am compelled to think that those two horsemen rode into town after that letter."
"Und Domlinson didn'd know a ting aboudt it, hey?"
"That's the way it looks. Of course, it's hard to under——"
Matt bit off his words abruptly and whirled around from the front of the machine. A crunch of footsteps could be heard outside, cautiously approaching the barn door.
Swiftly Matt extinguished the light, caught Carl by the arm and pulled him across the barn and into a box-stall. There they crouched down and peered out.
"By shinks!" whispered Carl. "A lod oof t'ings vas habbenin' to-nighdt. Dose two fellers vas comin' pack! How ve ketch dem, hey?"
"Hist!" warned Matt.
Just then the barn door opened, and a dark form could be seen against the lighter background of the doorway.
The man slipped into the barn stealthily and pulled thedoor shut behind him. It was impossible for the boys to see him very plainly, and after the door was closed they could not see him at all.
While they crouched breathlessly in the box-stall they heard a sound of fumbling movements, then the scratching of a match. Two hands could be seen, one holding the match and the other a piece of candle. When the candle was lighted the face of the man was brought out with positive distinctness.
It was Tomlinson!
Carl, fairly shaking with suppressed excitement, gripped Matt's arm. Taking the hand from his arm, Matt pressed it to signify that they were to remain where they were, and watch and see what happened.
Having lighted his candle, Tomlinson raised erect and peered about him through the gloom. Rest and food had brought back most of his strength, and he moved toward the car quickly and carefully.
Following down the right side of the machine, he opened the tonneau door, stooped and pulled up the rubber mat. The next moment a disappointed exclamation came from him.
Throwing the mat aside, he searched frantically, getting down on his knees in the tonneau and then carrying his hunt to the forward part of the machine.
He was all of five minutes bobbing around in the machine, and when he got out of it, and stood for a moment in front of the car, there was an ugly and perplexed look on his face.
Muttering to himself, he pinched out the candle, flung it away from him, turned, and went through the door.
"Pinch me vonce!" murmured Carl, with a long breath. "Meppy I vas treaming."
"You're wide-awake, Carl," said Matt grimly, "and so am I. What do you think of that?"
"I don'd know vat to t'ink, und dot's all aboudt it. Dere's peen nodding but funny pitzness efer since you shtopped der car ven it vas running avay mit itseluf—schust vone keveer t'ing afder some more. Chiminy plazes! I feel like I vas going pughouse. Domlinson come afder dot ledder, too."
"Sure he did."
"Und dose odder fellers vas afder it."
"No doubt."
"Und dose odder fellers got it——"
"And Tomlinson will think I was the one who took it, and that I am keeping it."
"Vat you t'ink, Matt? Vill you go und tell der deputy sheriff?"
"No. What we have discovered we will keep to ourselves. We don't know enough, yet, to lodge a complaint against anybody."
"Ve'll go on to Tenver mit Domlinson?"
"Yes, and keep our eyes and ears open every foot of the way. I've got a hunch that we'll find the key to this mystery somewhere between Ash Fork and Flagstaff. You go on up to the room, Carl, and go carefully. I'll sleep in the Red Flier. The car will be fairly comfortable for one, and it wouldn't be for two. Besides, it will be better if some one occupies our room."
Carl protested a little, but was finally prevailed upon to carry out Matt's suggestion. Matt got into the car and doubled up on the rear seat.
His mind was so full of the queer developments of the mystery that it was a long time before he went to sleep. However, he dozed off at last and did not open his eyes again until, in the early morning, he was aroused by the opening of the barn door.
As he started up quickly in the tonneau, the face of Tomlinson met him.
Tomlinson was startled by the sight of Matt, and leaped back in consternation; then, recovering himself, he came on into the barn and drew near the machine.
There was flaming suspicion in his eyes and a fierce look on his face.
ON THE ROAD.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Tomlinson.
"Watching your car," replied Matt.
"How long have you been here?"
"Most of the night."
"Did anything happen? Did——"
Tomlinson snapped off the words and glared. Matt was astounded at his manner.
"I should say something did happen!" said Matt. "Before turning in, I came out here to make sure the machine was all right. You see, Mr. Tomlinson, there's no lock on the door, and I was worried a little. It was well I came. Two men rushed out of the barn, and I followed them. They had horses hitched in the alley, and they got away."
"Are you giving it to me straight?" demanded Tomlinson, peering steadily into Matt's eyes.
"Certainly I am."
"Did you get a good look at those men?"
"No, it was too dark. They got away on their horses before I had a chance to get very near them."
Tomlinson was thoughtful for a few moments. He was wondering, no doubt, if Matt was pursuing the intruders while he was in the barn looking for the letter. Evidently he made up his mind that Matt knew nothing about his night visit to the barn, and it seemed equally evident that he believed the two men had got the letter. The fierce expression vanished from his face and he became more amiable.
"After that," said he, "you were afraid the machine might be tampered with, and so you came here and stayed all night?"
"That's the way of it, Mr. Tomlinson," replied Matt.
"I'm glad to know that I've got such a careful and discreet driver. I was worried about the car myself, and came out here, during the evening. I saw no one around, though, and suppose, at that time, you were chasing the two men. Wonder what they wanted here?"
"Perhaps they were two of the men who tried to hold you up," suggested Matt.
"What object would they have in coming here?"
"That's hard to tell. They might have wanted to injure the car just to get even with you."
Tomlinson shook his head.
"That would have been a foolish move," said he, "and I can't believe that was their object. Well," he added briskly, "it doesn't much matter. We'll get away from Ash Fork in less than an hour. Come in to breakfast. The landlord promised to have an early one for us."
"How are you feeling, sir?" Matt inquired, as they walked toward the hotel.
"First-rate," said Tomlinson; "almost as good as ever. Where's the Dutchman?"
"He spent the night in my room."
"Who is he? A friend of yours?" Tomlinson spoke carelessly, but it was clear to Matt that the question had more significance than he cared to make it seem.
"Yes, he's a friend," Matt answered. "He's been playing in hard luck lately. He and a man named Pringle were doing a turn in vaudeville. Pringle got out between two days, when he and his partner were in Flagstaff, and took about everything Carl had."
"Hard lines!" muttered Tomlinson. "Well, he helped me, and I'm glad to be able to do something for him."
Carl was coming down-stairs just as Matt and Tomlinson entered the hotel office. He seemed surprised to see Matt and the owner of the car together, but was clever enough to keep his feelings from Tomlinson.
All three went into the dining-room and ate a hurried meal. When it was done, Matt brought down a grip which contained all his reserve wardrobe, packed his bundle of laundry away in it and stowed it in the bottom of the tonneau. The rest of the tonneau Tomlinson appropriated for his own use.
It was seven o'clock when the Red Flier, guided by Matt's skilful hands, swept out of Ash Fork and pointed for Flagstaff. Carl, more "jeerful" than he had been for a long time, occupied the seat on Matt's left. Matt was not familiar with the road, but Tomlinson furnished him with a road-map and Carl kept the map open and followed the course with his eyes, from time to time giving Matt directions.
They had left Ash Fork no more than a mile behind when Tomlinson, braced in a corner of the tonneau, broached a subject which was vastly interesting to both boys.
"You lads," said Tomlinson, "are probably wondering about those pearls. You see, I am a wholesale jeweler, in Denver, and rare gems like those are directly in my line. They're from the Gulf of California, and were picked up by a La Paz Mexican, who brought them into Yuma. Hearing that I was in Yuma, the Mexican came to me and offered the pearls for sale. I bought them at a bargain. I asked you to say nothing about the pearls in Ash Fork, because, if it were known I had such valuable property about me, some one might lay a plan to hold us up. That's what happened the other side of Ash Fork, and it was an experience I don't care to have repeated."
"It's hardly safe to carry such valuable property around with you in this part of the country, Mr. Tomlinson," remarked Matt.
"No one knows that better than I do," the other answered, "hence my desire to keep the matter quiet."
"Why didn't you send the pearls to Denver by express, after you got them in Yuma?" asked Matt.
The question seemed to surprise Tomlinson.
"I was careless, I suppose," he answered, after a brief pause.
"Anyhow," went on Matt, "after your narrow escape on the road to Ash Fork, I should think you would have got the pearls into the hands of the express company as soon as you could."
"I pay you a hundred a month to look after this car," said Tomlinson sharply, "and not to offer suggestions as to how I run my business."
Carl rolled his eyes at Matt, and a slow grin worked its way over his fat face. Matt himself felt like grinning, for he was putting these questions for a purpose. Tomlinson's answers were hardly calculated to allay any suspicions that might be forming in Matt's mind.
At that time the Red Flier had dipped into a piece of road that skirted the foot of a mountain. According to the road-map, the course circled around the uplift to a point on the opposite side.
The mountain was low, oblong in shape, and covered with pine timber. Carl, stealing a covert look behind, now and then, saw that Tomlinson was staring at the tree-covered slope with uneasy eyes.
"This is a good road, King," said Tomlinson presently, "and I think it would be well to let the car out. A better place than this for a hold-up could hardly be imagined, and——"
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a thumping of hoofs was heard in the trail behind.
"Hold up, there!" yelled a voice; "wait!"
Matt took one look rearward. Two mounted men were behind—rough-looking fellows in slouch-hats and blue flannel shirts. It was plain that they had ridden into the road from the timber, probably intending to get ahead of the car, but making a miscalculation.
"Hit 'er up!" cried Tomlinson, crouching down in the tonneau. "Those are two of the men who tried to rob me before! Dig out, King! Don't let any grass grow under this car now!"
Matt advanced the spark, and sent the Red Flier ahead at a furious speed. The horsemen were armed, but made no attempt to shoot. They spurred wildly, and slapped their horses with their hats, but, of course, a six-cylinder machine could walk away from anything on hoofs. In less than a minute the two men were out of sight.
Matt, keenly watching the road and keeping steady hands on the steering-wheel, was wondering if those were the same men who had been prowling about the barn the night before. He judged that they were, and he wondered at their foolish attempt to try to chase the Red Flier and bring the car to a halt from the rear.
Three minutes later, and while they were still making for the point of the mountain, Tomlinson leaned over the back of the seat and gave a surprising order.
"Stop her, King! I'm going to get out here."
"Going to get out!" echoed Matt, cutting off the power and clamping on the brake. "If you do, those fellows will capture you."
"You don't understand," went on Tomlinson, stepping down from the tonneau. "Those fellows are after me, and I ought to have kept right on with these pearls and not laid over in Ash Fork last night. That gave them a chance to get ahead of us and lay a trap."
"Trap?" queried Matt.
"That's it. This road winds around to the other side of the mountain. See that gap up there?"
Tomlinson pointed up the wooded slope to a place where the ridgelike uplift was broken.
"Do you understand what those scoundrels can do, King?" pursued Tomlinson. "They can ride through that gap and get to the other side of the mountain ahead of us. I don't want to be in the car when that happens—and if I'm not in the car the chances are it won't happen. I'll climb up and get through the gap myself, and you pull up and wait for me after you get a mile beyond the gap on the other side. Understand? That's the only way we can fool those fellows. If we turn back toward Ash Fork, they'll get me, and if I stay in the car and goaround the end of the mountain the result will be the same. They can watch, from up there, and make the move that's best calculated to help them; but, by getting out, I can dodge through the timber on foot and we'll all give them the go-by. Wait for me a mile beyond the gap, on the other side," he repeated, and started up the slope.
Matt stared at Carl for a moment.
"Be jeerful," grinned Carl. "Ve nefer know vat's going to habben, dis trip, so it iss pedder dot ve take eferyt'ing as it comes. Domlinson must know vat he's aboudt."
"It looks to me as though he was getting into more trouble than if he had stayed with the car," muttered Matt. "He has some hard climbing ahead of him, for one who's been through what he has. However, I've got my orders, and here goes."
There was enough gas in the cylinders so that the Red Flier took the spark without cranking, and the boys rolled on around the end of the mountain and doubled back on the opposite side.
The road continued good, but the roadside was covered with jagged stones and it would have been impossible for the car to have turned out if any wagons had been met going the other way.
On this side of the uplift the trail bore off from the bottom of the slope, but it was easy to keep an eye on the gap and calculate the point where Tomlinson had told Matt to stop and wait for him.
As Matt figured it, there was a good two miles yet before that point would be reached, and he let the car out, once more, in order to hurry over the distance.
But he had hardly got under full headway before he shut off the gasoline and got busy with the foot-brake.
"Py chimineddy!" cried Carl; "dose fellers haf plocked der road!"
That was the exact condition of affairs. A pine-tree, growing close to the trail, had been felled in such a manner as to fall across it at right angles, making it impossible for the car to proceed. It was also impossible for the car to go around the tree, on account of the rocky ground at the trailside.
Wondering what the two ruffians hoped to gain by this move, Motor Matt leaped down from his seat and went forward to investigate the situation.
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY.
Matt had no more than reached the tree when he heard a sound of scrambling behind him. Just as he whirled about to see what was going on, a husky yell rang out.
"I'll take care o' the Dutchman, Spangler. You nail the other 'un!"
Simultaneously with the words a big, ruffianly-looking fellow sprang into the tonneau of the car, grabbed Carl as he was about to rise and pulled him over the back of the seat with an arm about his throat. There was another man on the ground, moving warily in Matt's direction.
These were the two scoundrels who had chased the car on the other side of the mountain, there was no doubt about that. They had made their counter-move exactly as Tomlinson had surmised. But why had they made it, now that Tomlinson was not with the car? And where were their horses?
It seemed clear that they had made a quick ride through the gap, and had reached the trailside and hidden behind the bushes, ready to make a capture as soon as the tree had stopped the boys and before they could take the back track. And what was the use of it all, now that Tomlinson had got away with the pearls?
These thoughts flashed through Matt's mind with the swiftness of lightning. A dead branch had been broken from the pine-tree in its fall. Matt grabbed at it and began waving it around his head.
"Keep away from me!" he cried, to the fellow who was closing in on him.
The ruffian, seeing the snapping gray eyes and the whirling club, paused undecidedly.
"That's Motor Matt!" yelled the man in the automobile; "get him, Spangler!"
"Oh, blazes!" snarled the man. "If ye think I'm goin' to walk inter that club, Hank, ye've got another guess comin'. I'll git him, though."
Spangler threw a hand behind him and jerked a revolver from his hip pocket.
"Now, younker," said he, leveling the weapon, "drop yer club an' be reasonable. I'd hate like sin ter cut ye off in yer youth an' bloom, but Hank an' me ain't here fer the fun o' the thing, not noways."
Matt could see with half an eye that the man meant business, and that he would be quick to use the revolver if he had to. If the two ruffians were after the pearls, they would probably leave Matt and Carl and go away as soon as they found out they were on the wrong track. Then, if ever, was the time to do a little talking.
"What do you want?" asked Matt, throwing the club away and leaning back against the tree.
"You seen anything of a green bag?" asked Hank, still hanging to Carl.
"I've seen it, yes," answered Matt. "If that's what you want, we haven't got it."
"Where is it? Don't you lie to me—it won't be healthy for you."
"Mr. Tomlinson has got the bag," said Matt.
The man on the ground gave a jump and began to swear.
"Do you mean to say," shouted the man in the car, "that thehombrewho was in this car with you didn't have that bag?"
"Yes, he's the one. His name's Tomlinson. He's in the jewelry business, in Denver."
An odd expression crossed the faces of the two men. Then Spangler began to laugh.
"What d'ye think o' that, Hank?" he demanded. "Tomlinson! He said his name was Tomlinson! Waal, wouldn't that rattle yer spurs?"
"You say he had the bag?" went on Hank.
"Yes," said Matt.
"They didn't try to take it away from him in Ash Fork?"
"No. Why should they, if it belonged to him?"
"What became of—er—Tomlinson?"
"He got out of the car on the other side of the mountain. He thought you'd cross over through the gap, and head us off."
This information put both men in a swearing temper.
"If he's on foot anywhere within a dozen miles of us," growled Hank, "we'll get him. Come on, Spangler! Spurs and quirts, while we run the coyote down."
Releasing the half-strangled Carl, Hank leaped out of the car. Together they started for the trailside, and the wooded slope leading to the gap.
But they were not gone, yet. Just as they began to mount the slope, Spangler gave vent to an angry yell.
"Look thar, Hank," he roared, pointing along the road beyond the tree. "Nowwho's played it low-down on us?"
Matt ran back to the car and climbed up to the front seat. From that elevation he was able to look off and see what it was that had claimed Hank's frantic attention.
Carl was already staring across the tree and into the distance. Two mounted men were galloping up the road, one of them leading a horse with an empty saddle.
One of the men was Tomlinson; the other was——
"Pringle!" muttered Carl; "py chiminy grickets, dere goes dot feller vat shkipped mit all vat I hat!"
Hank and Spangler were furious.
"They're makin' off with our hosses!" bellowed Spangler.
"And they've got the pearls!" added Hank.
"We got ter ketch 'em!" stormed Spangler. "We got ter pick up hosses some'rs an' git holt of 'em!"
He started to run along the slope in the direction the horses were going.
"Come back here, you fool!" ordered Hank. "We couldn't overhaul them in a thousand years, on foot."
"What'll we do?" flung back Spangler. "We kain't stand here an' watch 'em go skyhootin' off with our hosses an' them pearls. Of all the Injun plays I ever heerd of, this takes the banner!"
Hank was already retracing his way down the slope.
"We'll take the automobile!" he yelled, over his shoulder. "We'll be climbing right on top of 'em in a brace of shakes."
"Dot means us, Matt!" exclaimed Carl. "You do vat dey say, und py chimineddy I vill catch oop mit dot Pringle feller! Wienerwurst! I'll make him t'ink I vas vorse as dot!"
With revolvers in their hands, Spangler and Hank came plunging for the car.
"Snake us out of this, Motor Matt!" shouted Hank. "Lay us alongside that outfit ahead, and see how quick you can do it!"
"Can't do it," answered Matt. "You fellows have blocked the road."
In their excitement, neither Hank nor Spangler had thought of the tree. It was a case of their own weapons being turned against them. The ruffians let loose their billingsgate again, but only for a moment.
"Get out here, you two," shouted Hank, "and help us snake the log out of the way. I reckon the four of us will be plenty."
Carl piled out briskly, and Matt followed. Spangler and Hank worked like beavers, and after a two minutes' struggle the way was cleared.
"Now for it!" panted Hank, rushing back to the car. "All in, everybody! If you try any tricks with the machinery, Motor Matt," he finished savagely, "I'll make a lead-mine out of you. Top speed!"
It was an odd situation, take it all around. Matt was being forced to help the would-be robbers, but his suspicions of Tomlinson, since his talk with Spangler and Hank, had reached a point where he was more than willing to do his best to overhaul the men ahead.
Carl, of course, was thinking only of Pringle, and of what Pringle had done to him.
The Red Flier leaped onward with a bound, Matt leaning over the wheel and coaxing the six cylinders up, notch by notch, to their limit of power.
Hank was in front with Matt. Behind them, standing in the tonneau, gripping the seat-back and leaning over their heads, were Carl and Spangler.
"Gif her all she vill shtand, Matt!" cried Carl. "Hit her oop like anyding! Tear off der miles so kevick as dey nefer vas yet!"
"Whoop-ya!" yelled Spangler. "We'll purty near git thar afore we start! Talk about yer travelin'—why, this here's like bein' shot out of a gun!"
"That fellow isn't Tomlinson, you say?" shouted Matt to the man beside him.
"No more than I am!" answered Hank.
"Is he Denver Denny, otherwise James Trymore?"
"You've hit it!"
A light had suddenly dawned on Matt. Denver Dennywas playing a bold game, and the stakes were $30,000 worth of black pearls. Although Matt was helping Spangler and Hank, yet there was a hope, deep down in his heart, that he might somehow be able to worst all the robbers and recover the pearls for the man who owned them.
But where was that man?
While all this fighting was going on for the possession of the pearls, what had become of James Q. Tomlinson, of Denver?
A SHIFT IN THE SITUATION.
Matt had never done any more rapid-fire thinking than he did then. While Carl and Spangler, carried away by the excitement of the chase, were yelping frantically and throwing themselves around in the tonneau, and while Hank was growling and threatening, Motor Matt was driving mechanically and turning the situation over in his mind.
Pringle, Trymore, Hank, and Spangler were all concerned in the robbery of Tomlinson. Trymore, in some way yet to be explained, must have got hold of the pearls and have tried to get away with them and leave his pals in the lurch.
Hank, Spangler, and Pringle had been trying to get hold of Trymore, and had felled the tree and laid that trap where the road wound around the mountain. Pringle had been left with the horses while Hank and Spangler made their attack on the car; by getting out, as he had done, Trymore had checkmated his pals, had found Pringle and the horses, and the two had made it up between them to hustle away with all the live stock and leave Hank and Spangler tied up with the automobile on the wrong side of the tree.
All this, at least, represented Matt's quick guess at the situation, built upon certain things he knew and others which he took for granted.
Trymore and Pringle had about five minutes' start of the Red Flier; but the motor-car, under Matt's skilful control, was registering fifty miles an hour by the speedometer on the dashboard. If Trymore and Pringle kept to the road, they must surely be overtaken in short order.
Spangler was the first to sight the horsemen.
"Thar they are, by thunder!" he cried, in savage exultation, "we're goin' a dozen feet to their one, an' we'll smash right inter 'em, in half a minit."
"We'll empty the saddles, that's what we'll do!" said Hank, through his teeth. "We'll teach that brace of come-ons to play lame duck withus!"
Out of the tails of his eyes Matt saw Hank draw a revolver; and over his shoulder leaned Spangler with another weapon.
The young motorist, no matter how desperate the situation, did not intend to allow any successful shooting from the Red Flier. Quick as a flash, he steered the car over a roughened part of the road. During the shake-up that followed, the aim of the two ruffians was disconcerted, and their shots went wild.
Trymore and Pringle, goading their horses frantically, were doing their utmost to get away from their vengeful comrades. They knew, however, that if they kept to the road it would be only a matter of seconds before they were overhauled. The whistle of the bullets impelled a quick change of tactics, and they turned from the trail and took to the timber. By this move, they screened themselves from the weapons of the pursuers, but got into country where they would have to travel more slowly.
In the haste with which this fresh maneuver was executed, the led horse got away.
"Consarn 'em!" exclaimed Hank. "If they think they're going to get away by pulling off such a game as that, they're going to get fooled. Stop the car!" he added, to Matt.
Matt slowed down to a halt. Before the Red Flier had been brought to a standstill, Hank and Spangler were over the side, Hank catching the loose horse and spurring after the fugitives, and Spangler floundering after him on foot.
Presently, pursued and pursuers vanished, and Matt and Carl sat in the car and wondered what was going to happen next.
"You bed my life," fumed Carl, "I hope dey ged Pringle."
The Dutch boy was so deeply concerned over Pringle that he had lost sight of the more important points of the situation.
"They're crooks, all four of them," said Matt. "They stole the pearls from Tomlinson, in the first place, and now they're trying to beat each other out of them."
"Und Domlinson don'd vas Domlinson afder all?" inquired Carl.
"The fellow who called himself Tomlinson is Denver Denny,aliasJames Trymore. Didn't you hear what Hank and I said to each other, a few minutes ago, Carl?"
"I don'd hear nodding but schust some yells made py dot odder feller. Vell, vell! Led's all dry und be jeerful. Der deputy sheriff hat dot news aboudt Tenver Tenny in his bocket all der time, und he heluped der crook across der shdreet, und made him comfordable py der hodel, und dit eferyt'ing he could for him! Ach, Drymore vas a shrewrd sgoundrel, I bed you."
"He's a bold one!" declared Matt.
"Vere iss der real Domlinson alretty? Und how dit Drymore ged der audomopile?"
"That's what we've got to find out, Carl."
"It vas a pig orter."
"But we're going to fill it—and get back the pearls, too."
Carl shook his head.
"I like to t'ink dot, aber it don'd vas bossiple. How ve do anyt'ing ven ve shday here mit der car? Drymore von't come pack."
"I think he will," said Matt confidently. "I'll bet something handsome that Hank and Spangler make that mountain too hot to hold Trymore, and that he comes rushing for the car. Trymore won't know that we've found out who he is, and he'll try to keep on with the Tomlinson rôle. We'll let him think we're fooled, then capture him and recover the pearls."
"Dot vas some pright itees," returned Carl admiringly, pulling down his fiery vest and smoothing the wrinkles out of it, "aber my vone pitzness in life, schust now, iss to ketch Pringle und ged py Tenver. It seems like ve vas gedding furder und furder avay from Tenver all der time. You t'ink ve pedder shday righdt here, Matt?"
"Trymore saw us here last," answered Matt, "so it will be here that he comes to find us."
"Und oof ve can ged avay mit him und mit der bearls," said Carl, "ve vill fool der odder roppers, aber I don'd ged no shance ad Pringle. 'Wienerwurst!' He say it in der note. Pympy, vone oof dose tays, I make him know vich iss der saussage. Yah, so!"
Matt had been listening for sounds of the flight and pursuit. They had died out, shortly after the quartet of thieves had disappeared, but Matt was confident that he would hear them again.
The contour of the mountain was such, at that place, that it would be impossible for Trymore and Pringle to cross to the other side. They would have to make along the slope, trusting to luck to dodge Hank and Spangler and get back to the trail. Unless they were captured, it was a foregone conclusion that Trymore and Pringle would try to reach the car.
Inasmuch as Hank was mounted, he would be able to press the fugitives hard.
While the boys waited and watched, they heard the distant report of a revolver. The dull echoes, ringing through the woods, were taken up by a faint yell.
"Somepody vas shot!" cried Carl excitedly. "Oof it vas Pringle, I don'd ged him; und oof id vas Drymore, ve don't ged der bearls."
"Listen!" said Matt. "Somebody is coming this way."
There was a crashing of brush up the slope, growing louder by swift degrees. Matt sprang out, cranked up the engine, and hurriedly got back into the car.
"Vat now?" queried Carl.
"I'm going to turn around," said Matt, "and be ready to rush Trymore back to Ash Fork. He's coming—I'm sure of it. That means that we capture him and recover the pearls. A big day's work, Carl!"
"Meppy ve ged some rake-offs, den, hey?" returned Carl. "Ve don'd got mooch luck so far, oudt oof dis shake-oop."
Matt, having turned the Red Flier, brought the machine to a halt and sprang out to be ready with the crank. If Trymore came, with Hank hot at his heels, not a second could be lost in getting away.
The scrambling noise was still coming down the mountainside, growing louder and louder, but with no one breaking into view. As Matt stood by the front of the machine, trying to follow the sound with his eyes, he saw a horseman appear in an opening among the timber. It was Hank. He slid across the open space like a streak, bound down the slope and evidently in pursuit of Trymore.
Just as Hank disappeared, a form tore through the bushes close to the trailside and rushed for the car.
"Help!" cried the man. "Get me out of this or I'll be killed."
Poppety-pop! spluttered the engine, as Matt bent to the crank.
"Pringle!" shouted Carl; "oof it ain'd Pringle I vas a geezer! Oh, be jeerful, eferypody. Come, Pringle, come to me! I peen vaiding here, und somepody else vas vaiding pehindt, aber meppy you pedder dake shances mit me."
A thrill of disappointment ran through Matt. He was expecting Trymore with the pearls, and now to be forced to run away with Pringle looked like losing out on the whole proposition.
But there could be no lingering with the hope of ultimately securing Trymore. Hank and Spangler would be quick to understand the possibilities of the car, in Trymore's case, and they might puncture a tire, or do some other damage to eliminate the machine.
Pringle, caught between two fires, did not hesitate to take his chances with Carl. With a wild leap he slammed himself on the foot-board and against the tonneau. Carl had the door open, and laid hold of him and dragged him in.
Matt, smothering his disappointment, slid into his seat and started the car.
At that moment, Hank plunged out of the timber.
"Here, you!" he yelled to Matt. "Wait! I want that fellow!"
"You can't have him," shouted Matt, and jumped to the high gear.
Then away they went, covering the back trail as rapidly as they had gone over it the other way.
A SURPRISE.
Hank made a desperate attempt to overhaul the car. In fact, he tried so hard to capture Pringle that Matt wonderedat it. Why should he give so much attention to the fellow when the man he and Spangler wanted most was still on the mountainside?
Hank goaded his horse to top speed, shouted threats, and even smashed the tail lamp with a bullet before the Red Flier could get out of the way. No other damage was done, and Matt drew a long breath of relief when the angry robber was safely left behind.
Meanwhile things had been happening in the tonneau. Carl's idea of revenge was to take his troubles out of Pringle's hide, and he was going about it with considerable violence. The body of the car rocked from side to side on the chassis under the fierce turmoil in the tonneau.
"Wienerwurst, hey?" sputtered Carl, rolling Pringle over on the seat. "You cut loose from Wienerwurst, hey? I make you t'ink it tifferent, you lopster!"
"Leave go o' me. Pretzel!" cried Pringle. "I'll eat you, if you don't, an' that's what. Say, you monkey——"
"Monkey!" gurgled Carl. "Dot's somet'ing more. Pringle und Pretzel, der moosickal team haf bust oop! Und now come der firevorks. How you like dot, hey? Und dot, und dot! Dose vas my gompliments. Wienerwurst hants dem to you mit jeerfulness."
Thump, smack, bang! went Carl's fists.
Matt, having made sure that there was now no danger to be apprehended from Hank, halted the car and leaned over the back of the seat to take a hand in the squabble himself.
"That'll do, Carl!" he cried, grabbing the Dutch boy by the collar as he pummeled the form on the leather cushions.
"I hafen't paid him all vat I owe him yet," shouted Carl.
"That's enough, anyway. Leave him alone. If——"
"Dere he goes!" screamed Carl; "und look—look vat he's got in his hant alretty!"
The moment Matt dragged the Dutch boy from his late partner, the latter had leaped from the seat, grabbed something that had fallen from his pocket, and had sprung down from the car. As he leaped away, Matt saw that the object in his hand wasthe green silk bag!
Pringle had been saved from Hank, and he was now anxious to save himself from Carl and Matt. With a flying leap from the car, Matt made after him.
A sharp run followed. Pringle was no match for the athletic Motor Matt. Catching up with him at the end of a fifty-yard dash, the young motorist grabbed the fellow by the arm and jerked him to a halt.
Pringle was a slab-sided, beak-faced youth with buttermilk eyes. Merely a glance at him was enough to show Matt that he was thoroughly unreliable.
"No more fighting," said Matt sharply, snatching the bag from Pringle's hand. "Back to the car with you, on the double-quick."
"That ain't yours," snarled Pringle, referring to the bag.
"Nor yours, either," answered Matt. "I'm taking charge of it for Tomlinson."
This remark about Tomlinson seemed to take Pringle's breath.
"Who's Tomlinson?" he asked, trying to play the innocent.
"You know."
"Some one's been stringing you."
"You're trying it now, Pringle, but it won't work."
Carl, leaning out of the tonneau, was waving a revolver.
"Py shiminy, Matt," he called, "here I vas heeled all der time und forgot aboudt it. Dis gun pelongs mit der Drymore feller. Shtep avay vile I draw some beads on dot gangle-legged hide-rack, vat you got along."
"Put that up!" said Matt sternly. "If it went off, I'd be in as much danger as Pringle. That rope that was used to lash the wheel is wrapped around the foot-rest in the tonneau. Get it, and we'll tie Pringle's hands."
"What are you mutts trying to do?" demanded Pringle. "You ain't got no call to handle me like this."
"Oh, no, I guess nod!" taunted Carl, pulling Pringle's hands to his back and getting busy with the rope. "You vas a fine sbecimen oof a tinhorn, hey. Wienerwurst! Vell, I vas more oof a hot tamale as dot, hey?"
"What do you want to knock a partner like this for, Dutch?" demanded Pringle. "Just because I had to pull my freight without getting your permission? Aw, you make me tired!"
"See here," said Matt sharply, as Pringle was made to get into the tonneau, "there's no use of your trying to play possum with us, Pringle. We know all about what you've done—not only to Carl, but to Tomlinson. You'll go to Yuma, all right. Just now we're going to take you to Ash Fork and leave you, and the pearls, with the deputy sheriff."
This announcement took the wind out of Pringle's sails. The white ran into his face, and he sank back and stared helplessly from Carl to Matt.
At that moment the pounding of a motor was heard along the road in the direction of Ash Fork. In that region, where automobiles were few and far between, the sound claimed Matt's instant attention.
The other car was coming like the wind. It was a high-powered runabout with a single rumble-seat behind. There were two passengers—one a big man in cap and dust-coat, and the other a businesslike driver in leather fixings and goggles.
The runabout was new, as could easily be seen, and there was an extra tire in irons at the driver's side.
At that point in the road passing was easy, and the runabout surged by without decreasing speed.
"Look out ahead!" shouted Matt, making a trumpet of his hands.
But his warning didn't even win a backward glance from the big fellow with the driver. The dust the runabout kicked up soon screened the car from sight. A few moments later, the dust whisked out of view around the point of the mountain.
"Chiminy grickets, dot feller vas going some!" exclaimed Carl. "He don'd vas on speaking-derms mit anypody to-day, I guess."
"I'll bet that's the fellow I came to Ash Fork to see about a job," said Matt. "He answers the description, all right, but from the looks of things he's got a driver."
"Vich leds you oudt," returned Carl. "Dis odder chob oof yours ad a hundert tollars a mont I don'd t'ink vill last. Meppy ve don'd ged py Tenver, neider. Vat a luck it iss! Aber be jeerful. Pringle iss here," and Carl reached over to nudge Pringle in the ribs.
"Cut it out!" scowled Pringle. "What can I do to get clear of this?"
"You can go py Ash Fork fairst, und den py Yuma. Dot vill led you oudt in den years, meppy."
"Rub it in! Oh, by all means!"
"Do you want to tell us what you know?" asked Matt, facing Pringle.
"Will it put me in deeper, or help me out?" returned Pringle.
"It won't do you any harm. We know a good deal about this business, as it is. For instance, Pringle, you got a note from Denver Denny telling you that the pearls were on the way——"
"Dere id iss," said Carl, pushing the note in front of Pringle's eyes. "Look him ofer, den you know ve don'd make some pluffs."
"You answered the letter from Flagstaff," went on Matt, "and sent it to Brockville, saying you were glad the pearls were on the way and that you would meet Trymore at that place."
"Und dere iss dot vone, too—only ve don'd got it," put in Carl. "Dot's der vone vere you say someding aboudt Wienerwurst, vich iss me."
"No," said Pringle, "I know you don't got it. Hank got it. You're real cute in that red vest. It's almost like we were in the lime-light, doing the sketch. Quite a line you lads have got on me. But I wouldn't linger around here. That other benzine buggy is coming back, and Hank's up front. Spang's behind, too, and they're reaching out for us."
Pringle was turned partly around in the tonneau, so that his eyes could command the road in the rear. Matt took a quick glance toward the point of the mountain.
Pringle was right! The runabout was charging along the trail like a thunderbolt. The big man in the dust-coat had vanished. In his place sat Hank, and behind Hank was Spangler.
Hank had a revolver in his hand and was pointing it at the driver, holding him to his work.
"Ach, du lieber!" whooped Carl. "Pull avay, Matt! Dey're afder us."
Matt turned over the engine in record time, jumped for his seat and started.
ESCAPE.
It was easy for Matt to guess what had happened. Hank and Spangler had stopped the other car—by rolling the tree across the road again, or in some other way—and had taken possession of the runabout. The scoundrels were in luck to have such a car come their way at just that time.
Being a lighter machine than the touring-car, and fully as powerful, Matt knew that Hank and Spangler had the advantage. The two scoundrels were in desperate earnest, there could be no doubt about that. They had risked much for the pearls and would not let them slip through their fingers now if they could help it.
Pringle was as anxious to get away from the runabout as were Matt and Carl. If Hank and Spangler caught him, their vengeance would be swift and terrible. Pringle's easiest way out of the difficulty was to stay with the two boys.
Although the country through which the road ran was bluffy and rough, yet the road itself traveled the level places and was hard and firm.
Matt speeded up the engine to the limit and drew out every ounce of power.
"Dey're gaining!" shouted Carl; "dey're coming oop on us, Matt! Vell, I t'ink dis is our hoodoo tay, anyvays."
"Tear her to pieces!" cried Pringle. "Is this the best you can do? It will be all day with me if Hank comes alongside!"
They were doing fifty-five miles an hour, and Matt knew that they could not do any better, no matter what happened. He was hoping for something to turn up—that was all that could help them now.
Carl thought that was their hoodoo day, but he had occasion to change his mind.
"Somet'ing iss going wrong mit der odder machine, Matt!" he called. "Dey're preaking down, I bed you."
"That's what!" came from Pringle. "Hank acts as though he wanted to kill the driver. Is the driver making a play, or has something really slipped a cog? They're at a standstill."
Matt decreased the Red Flier's speed and looked back.The driver of the other car was on the ground and both Hank and Spangler were standing over him with drawn guns.
"Judging from what the driver is doing," said Matt, "it can't be a tire they've blown up. Water in the carburetter, perhaps. If that's the case, they'll be after us like a singed cat in less than a minute."
A bend in the road hid those in the touring-car from a view of their enemies behind. The road curved back and forth, through that part of the hills, and Matt was just making ready to let the Flier out again when Pringle made a suggestion.
"You can't give them the slip on a straightaway run, can you?" he called.
"No," answered Matt.
"And if they're only hung up for two or three minutes they'll catch us?"
"Easy."
"Well, I don't want to be hooked by that outfit, and I know a way we can dodge 'em."
"How?"
"Right ahead, on the left, there's a gully in the hills. You can go through it from end to end, easy enough, and at the farther end there's another road. Duck into that gully, quick!"
This seemed like a good move to Matt. He pulled the Red Flier down to the low gear.
"Oof you vas drying to make us some drouples, Pringle," warned Carl, "you vill ged vorse as you have hat yet."
"Aw, splash!" snorted Pringle. "What do you take me for? I was helpin' Denny to skip with the pearls, and Hank would kill me for that, if he could. I'm a lot more anxious to dodge him than you fellows are. Take the gully! I know what I'm talking about. I was through the place with Hank and Spang this morning."
Matt's keen eyes were already surveying the gully, and the ground that lay between the mouth of it and the road. The other car could be heard coming, and there was scant time for making a decision. A turn with the steering-wheel headed the Flier for the opening, and she glided in between the sloping walls of the narrow swale.
Hardly was the car out of sight when the runabout came ripping along in a cloud of dust. None of those aboard saw the Red Flier, but had their eyes on the next turn of the trail.
"Fooled!" laughed Pringle huskily. "If you take my advice, you'll keep going through the gully. As I just said, there is another good road beyond."
This advice seemed good to Matt, for, if they had pushed out into the road again and headed the other way, they might soon find the runabout once more behind them.
The bed of the gully was sandy, but there were no sharp stones or anything else to injure the tires. Proceeding carefully, Matt kept the car headed for the other road.
"I got a bottle of corn-juice in my back pocket," said Pringle, after a while, "and I feel the need of a nip. How about having one, all around?"
"Not for me," returned Matt promptly.
"Und nod for you, neider, Pringle," said Carl. "You vas too mooch oof a feller for der booze, und dot's vat's blayed der tickens mit you."
"How did you come to hook up with Hank, Spangler, and Trymore?" asked Matt.
"If I put you next," replied Pringle, "I expect you to do what you can for me."
"I'll do that—only I want the truth."
"That's what you'll get, right off the bat. I'm down, and you've got the pearls, and Hank and Spang are hot on my trail. I've all to win by putting you wise, and I don't see how I've got anything to lose.
"This Denny Jerome, otherwise Denver Denny, otherwise James Trymore, and some others, is an old pal of mine. We used to turn a knockabout spiel behind the footlights on a little two-by-four Western circuit; but Denny got to selling gold bricks to Jaspers and quit on me. I did a little with him, on the side, but the pace was too swift for my nerve. Denny got jugged, and made a getaway, and a friend told him that Tomlinson had picked up some pearls down in Yuma, and was to bring them back to Denver in his touring-car. That looked like good picking for Denny, and he slid for Brockville, A. T., and sent Hank to Yuma to see whether Tomlinson was really going to tote the pearls along with him or have the sense to put them through to Denver by express.
"Hank's the wise boy, all right, and he not only discovered that Tomlinson was just as foolish as he was made out to be, but picked up the road they were taking from Tomlinson's chauffeur. Hank then took the train for Brockville, Denny sent word to me, and I pulled out to join him and Hank and Spang.
"We laid for the touring-car beyond Ash Fork—stopped it by rolling a big stone into the road. Tomlinson and his driver showed fight, and Denny got a bit of a gouge in the block. He seemed all right, though, and pulled himself together in time to relieve Tomlinson of the silk bag.
"Close by that place where we blocked the trail there's an old adobe hut between two hills. From the looks of it, no one has lived there for a hundred years. The play was for Hank, Spang, and little Bright-eyes to take Tomlinson and the chauffeur to the hut and leave them there, neatly roped. Well, we did it; then, when we flocked back to the road, we found that this nice big car was gone and Denny gone with it. Strange as it may seem, Denny had forgot to leave the pearls.
"Oh, well, the air was blue for a while. Then, after Hank and Spang had taken their oaths they'd get thepearls and Denny's scalp along with 'em, we soldiered along toward Ash Fork, hugging the hills all the way. We went into camp in a dry-wash close to town, and when evening settled down, Hank sneaked into the burg and came back with a hot clue. The Red Flier was in the hotel barn, and Denny was in the hotel. The question was, did Denny have the pearls in his clothes, or had he hid 'em around the automobile? It looked like a raw play for him to keep the pearls in his pocket and run the risk of being caught with the goods, and we were all thinking he must have put 'em in the buzz-wagon.
"Hank and Spang went into town on their horses to have a look through the barn. Just as they had given up trying to find the pearls, some one came in and went to the machine while some one else stood in the door. Hank had a dark lantern—all of Denny's belongings he'd left with us—and he flashed it on the chap by the car. The fellow had a letter. Spang got it. They went after pearls and came back with the paper-talk I'd sent to Spang at Brockville. Then there was more language, and more swearing about what we'd do to Denny when we dropped onto him.
"There were only two ways Denny could go out of Ash Fork. One road was back toward the place where Tomlinson was held up. We knew he wouldn't go that way. The other road headed for Flagstaff. Hank stole an ax and we moved along the Flagstaff road early in the morning. We rode through this gully—that's how I came to know about it—and we crossed the mountain through the crack in the top of it and dropped a tree across the trail. Then we went up into the gap, where we could see a mile or two in every direction, and spotted the car when it came along with our absent-minded pal.
"Hank and Spang rushed down with their horses, just throwing a bluff in order to make sure the car got around the mountain to the tree. After that, Hank and Spang came up the hill, left their horses with me, and scrambled down to a lot of bushes.
"I was holding three horses in the gap. See? Then, all at once, who shows up but Denny. I was for yelling to Hank and Spang, but Denny stops me. He had the pearls, he says, and I might as well have half of 'em. What's the use of letting Hank and Spang in on a good thing when we could have it all to ourselves? Well, I went him one. Denny got onto one horse, and I got onto the other and led the third. You're wise, I guess, that we counted on getting away while that buzz-wagon was hooked to the tree; consequently, we were scared stiff when we heard it climbing after us.
"We took to the timber. What else could we do? The led horse parted company with me, Hank caught it, and then he pushed us hard. My horse tumbled; that left me on foot. All Denny and I had been thinking about was getting back to the car and making you fellows get us out of our hole. We might have made the riffle, I guess, if Denny hadn't played out and tumbled from his saddle. That hurt in the head must have weakened him some; anyhow, he laid on the ground as stiff as a mackerel. Not being able to do anything for Denny, I guessed I'd do what I could for Bright-eyes, so I stopped to get the silk bag. Came pretty near stopping too long, because some one took a shot at me, and I guess I jumped twenty feet.
"Hank was after me, and Hank was on his horse. What's more, Hank had seen me taking the silk bag. I knew right off it was a nip-and-tuck race, with the chances in favor of a man called Pringle getting nipped. Well, I traveled. When I reached a high place and couldn't go on my feet I laid down and rolled over. That's how I got to the car, and was warmly greeted by Pretzel. You know the rest. Is the spiel worth anything?"
Matt, while steering the car through the gully, had been following Pringle closely.
"I'm willing to let you go, Pringle," said he, "providing you take us to the place where you left Tomlinson and his chauffeur, and providing neither of them is hurt."
"Und broviding," added Carl, "you gif me pack vat you dook dot vas mine."
"You're on, both of you!" said Pringle. "I didn't think my dope would bring all that. Ahead of the car is the end of the gully, and just over the end is that nice road I was telling you about. That road will take us past the adobe hut and keep us out of Ash Fork all the way. It might be well to push the pace, though. Now that Hank and Spang have got a machine of their own, they may get the notion that we'll try to do something for James Q. Tomlinson, and make a play to block us."
The unfortunate jeweler had been in Matt's mind all the time, ever since the mystery had cleared enough so he could understand what had happened.
In order to reach the road Pringle described, it was necessary to climb the gully-bank. The climb was a stiff one, but Matt put the Red Flier at it without loss of a moment.
There was warm work ahead—and it would be warmer if Hank and Spang tried to block proceedings with the runabout.