ROBBERY.
Motor Matt made as graceful an ascent and as pretty a flight in the aëroplane as any he had ever attempted. Archie Le Bon, swinging below the machine on a trapeze, put the finishing touch to the performance by doing some of the most hair-raising stunts. Loud and prolonged were the cheers that floated up to the two with theComet, and there was not the least doubt but that the aëroplane had successfully diverted the minds of the spectators from the recent trouble with Rajah.
After theComethad fluttered back to earth, and the crowd had drifted away toward the side show, Matt and McGlory left a canvasman in charge of the machine and dropped in at the cook tent for a hurried meal. There was now nothing for the two chums to do until the next flight of the day, which was billed to take place at half-past six.
"Did you ever have a feeling, pard," said the cowboy, as he and Matt were leaving the mess tent and walking across the grounds toward the calliope "lean-to," "that there was a heap of trouble on the pike, and all of it headed your way?"
"I've had the feeling, Joe," laughed Matt.
"Got it now?"
"No."
"Well, I have."
McGlory halted and looked skyward, simultaneously lifting his handkerchief to test the strength and direction of the wind. Watching the weather had become almost a second nature with the cowboy since he and Matt had been with the Big Consolidated. Aëroplane flights are, to a greater or less extent, at the mercy of the weather, and the more wind during an ascension then the greater the peril for Motor Matt.
"Think the weather is shaping up for a gale this afternoon, Joe?" queried Matt.
"Nary, pard. There's not a cloud in the sky, and it's as calm a day as any that ever dropped into the almanac."
"Not exactly the day to worry, eh?"
"Well, no; but I'm worrying, all the same. What are you going to do now?"
"Catch forty winks of sleep in the calliope tent. We didn't get our full share of rest last night, and I'm feeling the need of it."
When they got to the "lean-to" Matt laid a horse blanket on the ground, close to the wheels of the canvas-covered calliope, and stretched himself out on it. A band was playing somewhere about the grounds, and the sound lulled him into slumber.
The cowboy was not sleepy, and he was too restless to stay in the "lean-to." Matt was hardly asleep before McGlory had left on some random excursion across the grounds.
A man entered the calliope tent. He came softly, and halted as soon as his eyes rested on the sprawled-out form of Motor Matt.
The man was Dhondaram. A burning light arose in the dusky eyes as they continued to rest on the form of the sleeper.
For some time the doors leading into the "big show" had been open. Crowds were entering the menagerie tent, and passing from there into the "circus top." The noise was steady and continuous, so that it was impossible for Matt, who was usually a light sleeper, to hear the entrance of the Hindoo.
Dhondaram lingered for several minutes. He had not his flat-topped basket with him, and he whirled abruptly and hurried out of the "lean-to."
From the look that flamed in the face of the Hindoo as he left, it seemed as though he was intending to return again—and to bring the cobra with him.
He had not been gone many minutes, however, when Boss Burton entered the calliope tent. This was where he usually met the man from the ticket wagon, as soon as the receipts had been counted and put up in bags, received the money, and carried it to the bank. This part of the work had to be accomplished before three o'clock in the afternoon, as the banks closed at that hour. The money from the evening performance always accompanied Burton in the sleeping car on the second section of the show train, and was deposited in the next town on the show's schedule.
Burton did not see Matt lying on the ground, close up to the calliope, and seated himself on an overturned bucket and lighted a cigar. The weed was no more than well started, when Dhondaram, carrying his basket, appeared softly in the entrance. At sight of Burton, the Hindoo stifled an exclamation and came to a startled halt.
"What's wrong with you?" demanded the showman.
"Nothing at all, sahib," answered Dhondaram, recovering himself.
"Feeling all right now?"
"Yes, sahib."
"Good!"
Without lingering for further talk, Dhondaram faced about and glided away.
The conversation between the showman and the Hindoo had awakened Matt. The young motorist sat up blinking and looked at Burton. He knew how the proprietor of the Big Consolidated always met the ticket man in the calliope tent, about that time in the afternoon, and checked up and received the proceeds for deposit in the local bank.
"Much of a crowd, Burton?" called Matt.
"Oh, ho!" he exclaimed. "You've been taking a snooze, eh?"
"A short one. Trying to make up for a little sleep I lost last night. What time is it, Burton?"
"About half-past two. Say," and it was evident from Burton's manner that the thought flashing through his brain had come to him suddenly, "I want to talk with you a little about that Dutch pard of yours."
"Go ahead," said Matt, leaning back against one of the calliope wheels; "what about Carl?"
"Is he square?" continued Burton.
"Square?" repeated Matt. "Why, he's as honest a chap as you'll find anywhere. If he wasn't, he wouldn't be training with McGlory and me. You ought to know that, Burton."
"You ain't infallible, I guess. Eh, Matt? You're liable to make mistakes, now and then, just like anybody else."
"I suppose so, but I know Carl too well to make any mistake abouthim. What gave you the idea he was crooked?"
"I never had the idea," protested Burton. "I just asked for information, that's all. He came to the show on your recommendation, and I've taken him in, but I like to have a line on the people I get about me."
"There's more to it than that," said Matt, studying Burton's face keenly. "Out with it, Burton."
"Well, then, I don't like the Dutchman's looks," acknowledged Burton. "Ping told me——"
"Oh, that's it!" muttered Matt. "Ping told you—what?"
"Why, that he caught the Dutchman going through his pockets last night. If that's the kind of fellow Carl is, I——"
"Take my word for it, Burton," interrupted Matt earnestly, "my Dutch pard is on the level. He makes a blunder, now and then, but he's one of the best fellows that ever lived."
"What did Ping talk to me like that for?"
"He and Carl don't hitch. There's a little petty rivalry between them, and they're a bit grouchy."
"Is Ping so grouchy that he's trying to make people believe Carl's a thief?"
"Ping is a Chinaman, and he has his own ideas about what's right and wrong. I'll talk to him about this, though."
"You'd better. Certainly you don't want one of your pards circulating false reports about another." Burton looked at his watch impatiently. "I wonder where Andy is?" he muttered, "He's behindhand, now, and if he delays much longer, I'll not be able to get to the bank before closing time."
"He may have had such a big afternoon's business," suggested Matt, "that it's taking him a little longer to get the money counted, and into the bags."
"The business was only fair—nothing unusual. Andy has had plenty of time to sack up the money and get here with it."
Andy Carter was the ticket man. He was middle-aged, an expert accountant, and was usually punctual to the minute in fulfilling his duties to his employer.
"Have you seen anything of Dhondaram lately?" Matt inquired casually.
"He blew in here with his little basket just before you woke up. Didn't you see him?"
"I heard you talking," answered Matt, "and that's what wakened me, but I didn't see who you were talking with. Did he get Rajah under control again, Burton?"
A puzzled look crossed the showman's face.
"He can manage that big elephant as easily as I can manage a tame poodle, and he wasn't two minutes with the brute before he had him as meek as Moses. What I can't understand is how Rajah ever broke away and went on the rampage like he did."
"There are others on this ground who deserve your suspicions a whole lot more than my Dutch pard," observed Matt.
"You mean that I'd better be watching Dhondaram?"
"Not at all," was the reply. Matt was already having the Hindoo watched, so it was hardly necessary for Burton to attend to the matter. "The Hindoo's actions are queer."
"Hindoos are a queer lot, anyhow. But they're good elephant trainers, and that's the point that gets me, just now."
"Where did Dhondaram say he——"
Motor Matt got no further with his question. Just at that moment a man reeled through the entrance. His hat was gone, his coat was torn, and there was a bleeding cut on the side of his face. With a gasp, he tumbled to his knees in front of Burton.
"Great Jupiter!" exclaimed Burton, leaping to his feet. "Andy! What's happened to you?"
"Robbed!" breathed the ticket man, swaying and holding both hands to his throat; "knocked down and robbed of two bags of money that I was bringing here. I—I——"
By then the startled Matt was also on his feet.
"Who did it?" shouted the exasperated Burton. "Did you see who did it? Speak, man!"
But Carter was unable to speak. Overcome by what he had passed through, he crumpled down at full length and lay silent and still at the showman's feet.
BETWEEN THE WAGONS.
Excitement, and a certain reaction which follows all such shocks as the ticket man had been subjected to, had brought on a fainting spell. A little water soon revived Carter, and he was laid on the blanket from which Matt had gotten up a little while before.
"Now tell me about the robbery," said Burton, "and be quick. While we're wasting time here, the thieves are getting away. I can't afford to let 'em beat me out of the proceeds of the afternoon's show. Who did it, Carter?"
"I don't know, Burton," was the answer.
"Don't know?" repeated the showman blankly. "Can't tell who knocked you down and lifted the two bags, when it was done in broad day! What are you givin' us?" he added roughly.
"It's a fact, Burton," persisted Carter. "I was hit from behind and could not see the man who struck me."
"You've got a cut on your face. How do you account for that if, as you say, you were struck from behind?"
"The blow I received threw me forward against a wagon wheel. The tire cut my cheek. I dropped flat, and didn't know a thing. When I came to myself, of course, the money was gone."
"Here's a pretty kettle of fish, and no mistake!" fumed Burton. "How much money did you have, Andy?"
"A little over eighteen hundred dollars."
"Eighteen hundred gone to pot! By Jupiter, I won't stand for that. Can't you think ofsomeclue, Andy? Pull your wits together. It isn't possible that a hold-up like that could take place in broad day without leaving some clue behind. Think, man!"
"Maybe that new Dutch boy could give you a clue," replied Carter. "He's a friend of Motor Matt's, isn't he?"
"He's a pard of Matt's," said Burton, casting a significant look at the king of the motor boys. "What makes you think he might give us a clue? Don't hang fire, Andy! Every minute we delay here is only that much time lost. Go on—and speak quick."
"I had just left the ticket wagon," pursued Carter, trying to talk hurriedly, "when the Dutchman stepped up to me. He wanted a word in private, as he said, and I told him he'd have to wait until some other time. He said he couldn't wait, and that what he had to tell me was important. I couldn't get away from him, and I agreed to listen to what he had to say providing he didn't delay me more than two or three minutes. With that, he led me around back of the "circus top" and in between two canvas wagons. That's when I got struck from behind."
Motor Matt listened to this in blank amazement. Boss Burton swore under his breath.
"It's a cinch the Dutchman had a hand in the robbery," the showman declared. "He lured Andy in between the wagons, and it was there that some of the Dutchman's confederates knocked Andy down and lifted the bags. If we can lay hands on this Carl, we'll have one of the thieves."
"Don't be too sure of that," interposed Matt. "Carl Pretzel never did a dishonest thing in his life, and I'm sure he can explain this."
"Don't let your regard for the Dutchman blind you to what's happened, Matt," warned the showman. "The only thing he asked Andy to go in between the wagons for was so that the dastardly work would be screened from the eyes of people around the grounds." He turned away, adding: "We'll have to hunt for Carl—and it will be a hunt, I'll be bound. Unless I miss my guess, he and his confederates are a good ways from here with that eighteen hundred dollars."
Burton ran toward the tent door, followed by Matt. Before either of them could pass out, Carl and McGlory stepped through and stood facing them.
Carl had a red cotton handkerchief tied round the back of his head.
"Here he is, by thunder!" cried the surprised Burton.
"So, you see," spoke up Matt, "he didn't run away, after all."
"It's some kind of a bluff he's working," went on Burton doggedly. "I want you," he added, and dropped a heavy hand on Carl's shoulder.
"For vy iss dot?" inquired Carl.
"What do you want the boy for?" said McGlory.
"He helped steal eighteen hundred dollars the ticket man was bringing over here for me to take to the bank," said Burton; "that's what I want him for."
"Iss he grazy?" gasped Carl, falling weakly against McGlory. "Vat dit I do mit der money oof I took it, hey? Und ven dit I take it, und vere it vas? By shinks," and Carl rubbed a hand over his bandaged head, "I'm doing t'ings vat I don'd know nodding aboudt. Somepody blease tell me vat I peen oop to."
"Don't you get gay," growled Burton. "It won't help your case any."
"Give me the straight o' this," demanded McGlory.
Burton stepped back and waved a hand in the direction of Andy Carter.
"Look at Andy!" he exclaimed. "He's been beaten up and robbed of two bags of money that he was bringing here. The Dutchman lured him in between a couple of canvas wagons, and that's where the job was pulled off."
"Speak to me about this!" murmured the dazed McGlory. "What about it, Matt?" he added.
Matt did not answer, but stepped over to Carl.
"Why did you ask Carter to step in between the wagons, Carl?" the young motorist asked.
"Pecause I vanted to shpeak mit him alone by himseluf," answered Carl. "Vat's der odds aboudt der tifference, anyvay?"
"What did you want to speak with him about?"
"Vell, I don'd like blaying der pancho for dot Zulu feller. I dit id vonce, und den fired meinseluf. Vat I vant iss somet'ing light und conshenial—hantling money vould aboudt suit me, I bed you. Dot's vat I vanted to see der ticket feller aboudt. I vanted to ask him vould he blease gif me some chob in der ticket wagon, und I took him off vere ve could haf some gonversations alone. Dot's all aboudt it, und oof I shtole some money, vere it iss, und vy don'd I got it? Tell me dot!"
"That's a raw bluff you're putting up," scowled Burton. "You're nobody's fool, even if you do try to make people think so."
"I ain't your fool, neider," cried Carl, warming up. "You can't make some monkey-doodle pitzness oudt oof me. You may own der show und be a pig feller, aber I got some money meinseluf oof it efer geds here from Inchia, so for vy should I vant to svipe your money, hey?"
"What happened between the wagons, Carl?" went on Matt. "Just keep your ideas to yourself, Burton," he added, "and don't accuse Carl until he has a chance to give his side of the story. Did you see the man who knocked Carter down?"
"I don'd see nodding," said Carl.
"Do you mean to say," asked Carter, rising up on the blanket, "that I wasn't knocked down?"
"I don'd know vedder or nod you vas knocked down. How could I tell dot?"
"You were there with Carter—there between the wagons," cried Burton angrily. "Why shouldn't you have seen what happened?"
"Look here vonce."
Carl pulled off his cap and bent his head.
"Feel dere," he went on, touching the back of his head. "Be careful mit your feelings, oof you blease, und tell me vat you findt."
"A lump," said Matt.
"Ouch!" whimpered Carl. "It vas so sore as I can't tell. My headt feels like a parrel, und hurts all ofer. Dot's der reason I ditn't see vat habbened. I vas knocked down meinseluf, und it must haf peen aboudt der same time der dicket feller keeled ofer."
"There you have it, Burton," said Matt, facing the showman. "Carl wanted a job in the ticket wagon, and thought he might get it by talking with Andy Carter. When they got in between the wagons they were both knocked down."
"Rot!" ground out Burton. "Why didn't Carter see the Dutchman when he came to? Or why didn't the Dutchman see Carter, if he got back his wits first?"
"Carl was looking for Carter when I met up with him," put in McGlory.
"The Dutchman wasn't near the wagons when I recovered my senses," came from the ticket man.
"Und I don'd know vedder you vas dere or nod, Carter," explained Carl. "Ven I got to know vere I vas at, I foundt meinseluf vanderin' around mit a sore headt. But I tell you somet'ing, Burton. I peen a tedectif, und a fine vone. How mooch you gif me oof I findt der t'ieves und recofer der money? Huh?"
"I believe you know where that money is, all right," declared the showman, "and if you think I'm going to pay you something for giving it back, you're wrong. If you want to save yourself trouble, you'll hand over the funds."
"You talk like you vas pug-house!" said Carl. "I ain't got der money."
"Who helped you steal it?"
"Nopody! I ditn't know it vos shtole ondil you shpeak aboudt it."
"Stop that line of talk, Burton," put in Matt. "Carl's story is straight, and it satisfies me."
"How much money did the Dutchman have when he came here this morning?" asked Burton.
"T'irty cents," replied Carl. "Modor Matt paid my railroadt fare from Lafayette to Chackson."
"Search him, McGlory," ordered Burton. "Let's see if he has anything about his clothes that will prove his guilt."
Carl began to laugh.
"What's the joke?" snorted Burton.
"Vy," was the answer, "to t'ink I haf eighdeen huntert tollars aboudt me und don't know dot. Go on mit der search, McGlory."
Carl lifted his hands above his head, and the cowboy began pushing his hands into Carl's pockets. In the second pocket he examined he found something which he pulled out and held up for the observation of all. It was a canvas sack, lettered in black, "Burton's Big Consolidated Shows."
"One of the bags that held the money!" exclaimed Carter.
"I told you so!" whooped Burton.
Matt and McGlory were astounded. And so was Carl—so dumfounded that he was speechless.
A PEG TO HANG SUSPICIONS ON.
"Vell, oof dot don'd grab der banner!" mumbled Carl, when he was finally able to speak. "I hat dot in my bocket und don'd know nodding aboudt it! Somepody must haf put him dere for a choke."
"That's a nice way to explain it!" growled Burton. "It cooks your goose, all right. Anything in the bag, McGlory?"
"Nary a thing," answered the bewildered cowboy, turning the bag inside out.
"Go on with the search," ordered Burton.
Mechanically the cowboy finished looking through the Dutch boy's clothes, and all the money he found consisted of two ten-cent pieces and a couple of nickels.
"Where did you hide that money?" demanded Burton sternly, stepping in front of Carl.
"I don'd hite it no blace," cried Carl. "You make me madt as some vet hens ven you talk like dot. Ged avay from me or I vill hit you vonce."
"Carter," went on Burton in a voice of suppressed rage, "call a policeman."
The ticket man had scrambled to his feet, and he now made a move in the direction of the tent door.
"Hold up, Carter!" called Matt; then, turning to Burton, he went on: "You're not going to arrest Carl, Burton, unless you want this outfit of aviators to quit you cold."
The red ran into Burton's face.
"Are you trying to bulldoze me?" he demanded. "I've got eighteen hundred dollars at stake, and I'm not going to let it slip through my fingers just because you fellows threaten to leave the show and take the aëroplane with you. I tell you frankly, King, I don't like the way you're talking and acting in this matter. We've got good circumstantial evidence against your Dutch friend, and he ought to be locked up."
"I admit that there's some evidence," returned Matt, "but you don't know Carl as well as I do. It isn't possible that he would steal a nickel from any one. If there was ten times as much evidence against him, no one could make me believe that."
"You're allowing your friendship to run away with your better judgment. What am I to do? Just drop this business, right here?"
"Of course not. All I want you to do is to leave Carl alone and let the motor boys find the thief."
"I want that money," said Burton, with a black frown, "and I'm satisfied this Dutchman knows where it is."
"And I'm satisfied he doesn't know a thing about it," said Matt warmly.
"How did that bag get into his pocket?"
"If you come to that, why isn't there some of the stolen money in the bag? Do you think for a minute, Burton, that Carl would be clever enough to plan such a robbery, and then be foolish enough to carry around with him the bare evidence of it? You don't give him credit for having much sense. Why should he keep the bag, and then come in here with it in his pocket?"
Burton remained silent.
"Furthermore," proceeded Matt, "if Carl is one of the thieves, or the only thief, why did he come in here at all? Why didn't he make a run of it as soon as he got his hands on the money?"
"Every crook makes a mistake, now and then," muttered Burton. "If they didn't, the law would have a hard time running them down."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Matt. "Leave Carl alone. If I can't prove his innocence to your satisfaction, I'll agree to stay four weeks with your show for nothing. You'll be making more than two thousand dollars, and you've only lost eighteen hundred by this robbery."
Burton's feelings underwent a change on the instant.
"Oh, well, if you put it that way," he said, "I'm willing to let the Dutchman off. I only want to do the right thing, anyhow."
"You vas a skinner," averred Carl contemptuously. "I knowed dot from der fairst time vat ve met."
"Sing small, that's your cue," retorted Burton. "Remember," and he whirled on Motor Matt, "if you don't prove the Dutchman's innocence, you're to work for me for four weeks without pay. I'm willing to let it rest in that way."
With that Burton took himself off. His show was doing well and he was not pressed for funds. As for the rest of it, he had shifted everything connected with the robbery to the shoulders of Motor Matt.
McGlory was a bit dubious. He had not known Carl as long as Matt had, and had not the same amount of confidence in him.
"Matt," remarked the Dutch boy with feeling, "you vas der pest friendt vat I efer hat, und you bed my life you don'd vas making some misdakes ven you pelieve dot I ditn't shdeal der money. I don'd know nodding aboudt der pag, nor how it got in my bocket. Dot's der trut'."
"I know that without your telling me, pard," said Matt. "The thing for us to do now is to find out who the real thieves are."
"There must have been only one," said McGlory.
"There must have been two, Joe."
"How do you figure it?"
"Why, because both Carl and Carter were knocked down at the same time. Neither saw what had happened to the other. Two men must have done that."
"Vat a headt it iss!" murmured Carl. "Modor Matt vould make a fine tedectif, I tell you dose."
"You've got a bean on the right number, pard, and no mistake," exulted McGlory.
"Did you see any one near the wagons when you led the ticket man in between them?" asked Matt, turning to look at the place where he had last seen the ticket man standing.
But Carter had left. Presumably, he had followed after Burton.
"I don'd see nopody aroundt der vagons," answered Carl. "Der t'ieves vas hiding, dot's a skinch. Day vas hid avay mit demselufs in blaces vere dey couldt handt Carter und me a gouple oof goot vones. Ouch again!" and Carl rubbed a gentle hand over the red cotton handkerchief.
"Take us to the place where you and Carter were knocked down, Carl," said Matt. "We'll look the ground over and see if we can find anything."
The Dutch boy conducted his two friends toward the rear of the circus tent. Here there were two big, high-sided canvas wagons drawn up in a position that was somewhat isolated so far as the tents of the show were concerned. The wagons had been left in the form of a "V," and Carl walked through the wide opening.
"Dis iss der vay vat ve come in," said he, "I in der lead oof der dicket man. Ven I ged py der front veels oof der vagon, I turn around, und den—biff, down I go like some brick puildings had drowed demselufs on dop oof me. Shiminy grickeds, vat a knock! I don'd know vere Carter vas shtanding, pecause I ditn't see him, I vas hit so kevick."
Matt surveyed the ground. The turf had retained nomarks of the violent work. He examined the rear tires of the wagons. The rims, for the whole of their circumference that was off the ground, were covered with a coating of dried mud; and this caking of mud was not broken at any place.
"Carter must have stood here, in this position," observed Matt, placing himself between the two rear wheels. "He says that he fell against one of the wheels and cut his cheek on the tire. I can't find any trace of the spot where Carter came into such rough contact with either of the tires."
"Don't you think he was telling the truth, pard?" asked McGlory in some excitement. "Is it possible he was using the double tongue, just to——"
"Easy, there," interrupted Matt. "Carter was dazed when he fell, and could hardly have known whether he struck against the tire or against something else. He may have dropped on a stone——"
"No stones here," objected McGlory, with a quiet look over the surface of the ground.
"Well, then it was something else that caused the injury to his cheek. He——"
"Here's something," and McGlory made a dive for the ground and lifted himself erect with an object in his hand. "I reckon it don't amount to anything, though."
"Let's see it," said Matt.
McGlory handed the object to the young motorist. It was a peg, perhaps half an inch thick by three inches long, and had a knob at one end as big as a marble.
"Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed the king of the motor boys, staring from the peg to McGlory and Carl.
"What's to pay?" queried McGlory. "You act as though we'd found something worth while."
"We have," declared Matt, "and everything seems to be helping us on toward a streak of luck in this robbery matter."
"How vas dot?" queried Carl.
"This peg belongs to the Hindoo," said Matt. "It's the contrivance he used for fastening down the lid of that flat basket in which he carries the cobra."
McGlory went into the air with a jubilant whoop.
"He's the thief!" he cried. "I've had a feelin' all along that he was a tinhorn. This proves it! Sufferin' blackguards, Matt, but you've got a head!"
"Vere iss der shnake?" came from Carl, as he looked around in visible trepidation. "Oof der pasket iss oben, den der copra is loose on der grounds. Vat a carelessness!"
"And remember," said Matt, addressing the cowboy, "that I had set Ping to watch the Hindoo before the robbery took place. If Dhondaram is the robber, then Ping was on his trail at the time and must know something about it."
"Speak to me about that!" exulted the cowboy. "Our friend the Hindoo has been putting in some good licks since he joined the Big Consolidated! He hasn't let any grass grow under his feet."
Motor Matt whirled around and walked out from between the wagons.
"Let's find Ping," he called back, "and get a report from him. That ought to settle everything."
McGlory and Carl, feeling that something important was about to be accomplished, hurried after Matt as he moved off across the show grounds.
A WAITING GAME.
The Chinese boy was not in evidence anywhere about the camp. After a search in all directions, Matt, McGlory, and Carl, reasoning that Ping's trail had led him to other places outside the show grounds, returned to the calliope tent. There, to their overwhelming surprise, they came upon Dhondaram, sitting nonchalantly on his square of scarlet cloth and smoking a cigarette.
The Hindoo's face lighted up genially at sight of the three boys.
"Salaam, sahibs!" said he in a friendly tone. "I come here to rest. It is permitted? I thought so. Rajah takes work to manage—jee, yes, much work. It tires me. Do you use the little smokes? Take one, sahibs."
Dhondaram offered his little red box of rolled paper poison, only to have his courtesy declined.
Matt was looking around. He was hoping to see the basket, but it was not in sight.
McGlory had something at the end of his tongue, and Carl was all agog with a desire to talk, but Matt silenced each of them with a look.
"Where's the cobra, Dhondaram?" asked Matt. "I'd like to see you juggle with the snake again."
The Hindoo smiled and showed his white teeth.
"Maskee!" he exclaimed, "that is my sorrow. My little snake is gone. Now that I am taking care of elephants, sahib, I have not the time to charm serpents. I sold the cobra an hour ago."
"Sufferin' tarantulas!" murmured McGlory. "What fool would want to buy a thing like that?"
"The cobra, sahib," said the Hindoo, turning to the cowboy, "is a curiosity. Manyferinghislike curiosities and pay for them. 'Tis well. I like the elephants better than the serpents."
"What did you do with the snake basket?" asked Matt.
"That must be sold with the cobra, sahib. What would the new owner do with the serpent unless he had the place to keep him?Dekke!He take the snake, also he take the basket. I throw in the basket, as you call—give it as boot."
With eyes narrowly watching Dhondaram's face, Matt produced the peg and tossed it on the red cloth.
"What did the new owner do," the king of the motor boys inquired, "without the peg to keep the basket shut?"
Not a tremor crossed the Hindoo's face.
"Ah, ha!" said he. "I lose the peg and Motor Matt Sahib find it. But it is nothing. There are many things that can be used as pegs—a splinter, a bit of wood, almost anything. Where you pick it up, sahib?"
"Oh, out on the grounds," answered Matt indefinitely.
"Sahib recognize the peg when he find him? You have much observation, Mattrao Sahib."
The suffix "rao" is added to a name as a sign of great respect. Probably Dhondaram felt that he was paying Matt a high compliment, although, naturally, Matt knew nothing about that.
Dhondaram got up slowly and lifted the red cloth from the ground.
"I will now go," said he, "and find how my bad Rajah is conducting himself. He must be watched carefully, and spoken to."
With a courteous nod the Hindoo left the tent. Assoon as he was gone Matt rolled over and lifted one side of the canvas wall.
The Hindoo, with never a look behind, walked in his easy way around the calliope "lean-to" and into the "animal top," by the front entrance.
"Nerve!" sputtered McGlory, "he's got a square mile of it. Never turned a hair. Even the sight of that peg didn't phase him."
Matt was still peering from under the canvas.
"There's something here I can't understand," said he, a few moments later, and he dropped the canvas and faced his friends.
"Vat it iss?" asked Carl.
"Why, we set Ping to watching Dhondaram, and by all the rules of the game the Chinaman ought to be on the fellow's track. But he isn't, so far as I can see. What's become of Ping, McGlory?"
"Dhondaram has shaken him," hazarded the cowboy. "The chink wasn't sharp enough for the turban boy."
"That may be," mused Matt, "although I doubt it. Ping is about as smart a Chinaman as you'll find in a month's travel. It's mysterious."
"Then again," went on McGlory, "maybe Ping is on Dhondaram's trail and you don't know it. He's either too wise for us, or else not wise enough for the Hindoo. Pick out whichever conclusion you want."
But Matt shook his head, puzzled.
"He don'd vas mooch goot, dot chink feller," spoke up Carl gloomily. "Vone oof dose days you will findt him oudt."
"Don't try any slams on Ping," said McGlory. "He's the clear quill, he is, even though he's a rat-eater and a heathen. Ping has turned some pretty fine tricks for Matt and me, and like as not he's busy coming across with another. You've got too much of a grouch at the slant-eyed brother, Carl."
"I say vat I t'ink, und dot's all," replied Carl. "I can lick him mit vone handt tied aroundt my pack."
"Cut it out, Carl," said Matt. "Ping's a good fellow, and has always stood by me. I don't want any hostile feelings between two of my pards."
"Py shinks," cried Carl, "he iss more hosdyle at me as I am at him. Aber he's a shink, und he hides vat he t'inks pedder as I can do. Somedime you findt it oudt, den you know."
"Go and look for Ping, Carl," said Matt. "Find him, if you can, and bring him where I can talk with him. It's more than likely that your innocence of that hold-up will have to be proven by the Chinaman, so it will stand you in hand to be friendly with him."
"Honest," fumed Carl, getting up, "I hat radder go to chail mit meinseluf as to led der shink prove dot I ditn't took der money."
"Well, you go and find him. You and Ping must be friends if you're both to stay with me."
Carl was far from being in love with the task assigned to him, but nevertheless he went off to do what he could toward performing it.
"Those two boys don't mix worth a cent," remarked Matt, when Carl had left. "They're like oil and water."
"They mix too much," grinned McGlory. "When they got acquainted with each other it was a 'knock-down' in more than one sense of the word. They've been hungry to mix it up with each other ever since."
Matt had no answer for this. He was well acquainted with the dispositions of both boys.
"When I first got acquainted with Carl," said Matt reminiscently, "he was having trouble with a Chinese laundryman. That was 'way off in Arizona."
For a time there was silence between the friends, broken at last by the cowboy.
"What can we do now, pard?"
"It's a waiting game for us, and if Ping doesn't know something that will help Carl out of the hole he is in, we'll have to hunt for some other clues."
"Dhondaram is a smooth article, and no mistake. If he really stole the money, who helped him? And why is he staying with the show?"
"I don't know, pard," returned Matt. "We'll have to let the thing work itself out, somehow."
"You don't intend presenting Burton with our wages for a month, do you?"
"That's the very last thing I'd ever do!" declared Matt.
"Then, if that's the case, we can't keep up this waiting game too long."
The afternoon performance was over, and the crowd of people began filing out of the tents. Only the "grand concert" remained, and that would soon be at an end, and the time would arrive for another ascension with the aëroplane.
"I wish," remarked Matt thoughtfully, "that we could work out this robbery business before we leave Jackson. Some town crook may be mixed up in it with Dhondaram, and when the show leaves the place we may all be leaving the money behind."
"Burton isn't worrying," said McGlory. "He's positive Carl is guilty, and that you can't prove anything else. In other words, Boss Burton is planning to have us work four weeks for nothing."
"He'll be disappointed," said Matt. "Let's go and get supper, Joe. It won't be long before the evening crowd begins to arrive, and I want to put theCometin shape."
While they were eating at the long table in the mess tent Carl came in.
"I don'd find nodding," said he, dropping wearily into a chair. "Der shink is harter to find as a hayshtack mit some neetles in it. Meppy he iss over in der town, or else gone oop in a palloon, or else"—and here Carl leaned closer to Matt and spoke in a whisper—"meppy he took der money himseluf und has gone pack py Shina."
"That will do, Carl," said Matt sternly. "Ping is as honest as you are."
"Anyhow," spoke up McGlory sarcastically, "he didn't ask Carter to go between the wagons, and we didn't find a bag in his pocket."
"Dot's righdt, rup id in," glowered Carl. "Oof I could ged dot money from Inchia I vould fly der coop und I vouldn't come pack any more. All der tedectif vat iss in me say der shink is gone mit der show money. I say vat I t'ink."
"Well," said Matt, "don't say it to anybody else."
When he and McGlory left the mess tent and moved off toward the aëroplane, Carl was still eating.
Matt was counting upon having as successful a flight that afternoon as he had made in the morning. The repaired aëroplane was in better trim for flying than it had been when new, and there was not even the small breeze which had accompanied the first flight of the day.
But, if Matt could have known it, he was destined to meet with one of the most desperate and hair-raising exploits of his aëroplane career during that second flight from the Jackson show grounds.
A TRICK AT THE START.
The guard who had been in charge of the aëroplane since the parade had returned to the show grounds was relieved by Matt and McGlory. As soon as he had left, Matt, in accordance with his usual custom, made a careful examination of the machine. He knew very well what might happen if he found, after being launched into the air, that some of the many parts of the aëroplane were loose, or the machinery not working properly.
Long ropes, stretched on each side of the road on which the flying machine got its start, served to keep the people back and to give Matt and his corps of assistants plenty of room.
So far as the young motorist could see—and his investigation was always thorough—the aëroplane was in as serviceable a condition as it had been for the morning's flight. It was a most ungainly looking machine when resting on the ground, but was transformed into a thing of grace the moment it spurned the earth and mounted skyward.
"She looks as fit as a fiddle," remarked McGlory, his face shining with pride.
"She'll do her work easy as falling off a log," said Matt. "The repairs we made on her, in Lafayette, seem to have been an improvement."
"We don't want to make any more improvements of that sort," remarked McGlory, thinking of the accident which had made the repairs necessary.
"Ah," cried Matt, "here comes Le Bon. And look who's with him," he added in a lower tone.
The cowboy turned his head and swept his gaze over the throng that pressed the guard rope to the north of the road. Le Bon, in his trapeze costume, was crawling through the press, and close behind him came Dhondaram. McGlory scowled.
"What's the Hindoo coming for?" he muttered. "I'm getting so I hate the looks of that fellow."
Le Bon came close, walking with the springy tread of the trained athlete.
"It looks as though we were going to have as nice a time aloft as we had this morning, Matt," he observed, coming to a halt and taking a look at the sky.
"What's the Hindoo trailing you for?" queried McGlory.
"He wanted to come along and see the flight at close quarters. He's a pretty good fellow, McGlory, and I told him to push along with me. What's the harm?"
"No harm at all," interposed Matt hastily.
McGlory spun around on his heel and would not remain near to talk with Dhondaram. The Hindoo, as he halted in front of Matt, was smiling in his most ingratiating manner.
"I have come to look, sahib," said he, "at your most wonderful performance. It is read of everywhere, and in Chicago most of all. It will be a pleasure. It is permitted?"
"You can stay here," answered Matt, "providing you keep out of the way."
"I will see to that, Mattrao Sahib," and the Hindoo walked around the aëroplane, giving it his respectful attention.
The wonder was growing upon Matt as to the whereabouts of Ping. The Chinese boy was always on hand when the flights were made, for theCometwas the apple of his eye and he took it as a personal responsibility to make sure that the "get-away" was always safely accomplished.
He did not appear to be trailing the Hindoo. If he had been, why was he not somewhere in the crowds that were pressing against the guard ropes.
"Watch the brown tinhorn, Le Bon," muttered McGlory, in the kinker's ear, "and see that he don't tinker with anything."
"Why," exclaimed Le Bon, "he wouldn't do anything like that!"
"He might," was the sharp response. "I haven't any faith in these fellows who wear a twisted tablecloth for a hat. If anything should go wrong, up in the air, it'll spell your finish as well as my pard's. I'm going to have a word with Matt."
The band had come from the mess tent. Instruments in hand, the members had climbed into the band wagon, which was hauled up near the point from which theCometwould start, and a rattling melody was going up from the horns, the drums, and the cymbals.
The aëroplane flight was Motor Matt's own particular part of the show. It was an instructive part, too, for aside from the thrill of seeing a human being piloting a big mechanical bird through the air the observers were given the last word in aërial navigation.
"What's on your mind, pard?" asked McGlory, halting at Matt's side. "You're as thoughtful as a cold game gent who's looking into the open end of a gun."
"Have you seen anything of Ping, Joe?" said Matt.
"Chink 'signs' haven't been at all plentiful since our squinch-eyed brother tried to run out the Hindoo's trail."
"I'd like to know where the boy is, that's all."
"Don't fret about him. I'd like to have a picture of Ping in a corner he couldn't get out of. You take it from me, Johnny Hardluck hasn't got such a corner in his whole bag of tricks."
At that moment Burton rode up to the aëroplane on his favorite saddler.
"Innocent or guilty?" he asked, leaning down from his saddle and accompanying the words with a significant wink.
"Innocent, of course," answered the king of the motor boys.
"Can you prove it to me?"
"Not yet."
"And you never will. Better let me have the Dutchman locked up. That'll scare him so he'll tell all he knows, and maybe it isn't yet too late to get the money back."
"Keep hands off my Dutch pard, Burton," said Matt. "We've made an agreement about that."
"Exactly." Boss Burton straightened. "I guess you'd better get a-going, Matt," he added. "The whole town seems to be outside the guard ropes, and I don't think we could get any more spectators if we waited all night."
Burton backed his horse away from the starting line and lifted one hand. Instantly a breathless silence fell over the vast throng, while every individual member of it craned his or her neck to get a better view of what was going on.
The aëroplane, as has already been stated, had to make a running start on bicycle wheels in order to develop the speed necessary for the wings to take hold of the air and lift the machine. The wheels were low, and Le Bon had to sit on the lower plane beside Matt and hold the trapeze on his lap until theCometwas high enough for him to drop from the footboard.
TheComet'smotor was equipped with a magneto, but, at the beginning and while the machine was on the ground, the spark was secured with a make-and-break circuit. When the motor was properly going the magneto took hold and an automatic switch brought it into commission.
McGlory superintended the ground work during the start. Some half a dozen men, under his direction, ranged behind the planes, started the machine, and ran with it. The power in the bicycle wheels soon carried the aëroplane away from them.
At twenty-eight miles an hour the great wings felt the tug of the air, the wheels lifted from solid ground, and a sharp pull at a lever started the big propeller.
Matt had made so many ascensions that he handled every part of his work with automatic precision, and the aëroplane, amid the wild cheers of the crowd, darted skyward.
McGlory, standing perhaps a distance of fifty feet back from the point where the machine left the earth, saw a bag hanging to the under plane, close to an opening that led up through the plane to the motor and the driver's seat.
What was the bag? the cowboy asked himself, and how did it chance to be swinging there?
McGlory had only a few moments to make his observations, for theCometwas climbing swiftly upward and the bag was growing rapidly smaller to the eye. He ran forward, stumbling and looking, and Burton, evidently with his eyes on the same object, galloped past him with glance upturned.
Suddenly a black object appeared over the top of the bag, grew longer, wriggled queerly, and could be seen disappearing into the space between the two planes.
The cowboy halted his stumbling feet and reeled, his brain on fire and his breath coming quick and hard.
That black, wriggling thing must have been the cobra! The cobra, which the Hindoo had said he had sold to some one on the show grounds!
McGlory's mind was a hopeless chaos of fears, doubts, and wild speculations. While he stood there, Burton, a wild look on his face, came galloping back.
"That bag!" he gasped, drawing rein with a quick, nervous hand at the cowboy's side. "Did you see it, McGlory?"
"Yes," answered the other.
"It was one of the bags that had stolen money in it!" declared Burton; "I saw the black lettering on the side! Is it the one you got from the Dutchman?"
McGlory shook his head, still dazed.
"I've got that—in my grip—at the calliope tent," he managed to gasp.
"Where did that one come from?"
Then McGlory came to his senses.
"I don't care a whoop about the bag, or where it came from," he shouted. "Did you see that snake come out of it and crawl up onto the lower plane? Did you see that?"
"Yes, but——"
"Don't talk to me! Find that Hindoo—he was here before the start and he put that bag there. Find him!" yelled McGlory.
Then, at the top of his lungs, the cowboy shouted frantically to Matt, in the hope of letting him know his danger and putting him on his guard.
But it was a fruitless effort. The tremendous cheering drowned McGlory's voice, and it was impossible for him to make his voice heard.
IN THE AIR WITH A COBRA.
Both Motor Matt and Le Bon were delighted with the start of the aëroplane.
"She gets better and better," averred Le Bon. "I guess I'll take to flying myself."
While in the air Matt's every faculty of mind and quickness of body were called into action. He had tofeelthe motion of the air on the huge wings, as communicated to the framework under him, and shift the wing extensions back and forth to meet the varying resistance of air pressure and make it coincide with thecentre of gravity. To withdraw his attention for an instant from the work of managing the machine might result in a disaster that would bring destruction to himself and Le Bon. But he had schooled himself to talk while keeping busy with his work.
"Better not try it, Archie," Matt answered. "It's too much of a strain on a fellow's nerves. Are you ready to drop with the trapeze?"
"Whenever you are," was the response.
There was always a jolt when Le Bon's weight reached the ends of the trapeze ropes, and extra care was required in taking care of theComet.
Matt brought the air craft around in a sweeping circle and headed the other way to cover the north and south extent of the grounds. He, likewise, the moment the turn was made, turned the aëroplane upward.
"What's the matter with McGlory?" asked Le Bon, peering down. "He's looking up and waving his arms."
"He wouldn't do that," said Matt, "unless something is wrong. When you get on the trapeze, Archie, look over the under part of the machine and see if you can find anything out of whack. I can't imagine what's gone crosswise, for the aëroplane never behaved better."
Reaching the top of the airy slope, some two hundred feet above ground, Matt pointed the machine earthward.
"Now's your time, Archie," he said to Le Bon.
The athlete stood erect, firmly clutching the trapeze bar, and dived out into space. Swiftly Matt brought the craft to an even keel, just as the whole fabric fluttered under the jolt. In a twinkling theCometrighted herself, and Le Bon was left swinging on his frail bar, a hundred and fifty feet above the show grounds. His position under the machine was such that Matt could not see him.
"All right, Archie?" shouted Matt, keeping his eyes ahead and manipulating his levers incessantly.
"Right as a trivet," came up from below. "McGlory is still throwing himself around down there."
"Do you see anything wrong with the machine?"
"Not a thing. What's that bag hanging under the wing for?"
"Is there a bag there?"
"Yes, a canvas bag. There are letters on it. Wait, and I'll read them."
There followed a silence during which, supposedly, Le Bon was spelling out the letters.
"'Burton's Big Consolidated Shows'," went on Le Bon. "That's what's printed on the bag, Matt."
"Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed Matt. "Anything in the bag, Archie?"
"It's as limp as a rag and looks to be empty. How did it get there?"
"Give it up. If it's empty, I don't see how it can do any harm. I don't like the thoughts of the thing, though, and we're not going to remain up as long as usual. Get busy with your work."
Renewed cheering greeted the daring feats performed on the trapeze by Le Bon. In the midst of it the motor missed fire and died altogether. The slowing rotations of the propeller caused theCometto glide earthward. A terrified yell broke from Le Bon.
"What's the matter, up there?"
"Keep your nerve," flung back the king of the motor boys; "something's wrong with the motor—but we'll be all right."
Yes, Matt knew that the aëroplane would glide earthward and land him and Le Bon without injury; but, if it could not be guided, it was as likely to land on the heads of that dense crowd as anywhere. That would mean serious, if not fatal, injury to many men—perhaps to women and children.
Motor Matt's face went white, and his heart pounded in his throat. Nevertheless he kept a cool head and a steady hand.
He figured out the exact point where they would come down. It was in the very thickest part of the crowd, and the people were trying frantically to get out of the way.
Then, just as it seemed as though nothing could prevent a terrible accident, the motor again took up its cycle and the slowly whirling propeller increased its speed.
A long breath of relief escaped Matt's tense lips as he drove the aëroplane upward and the direction of the roped-off road.
"What ails the blooming motor?" came from Le Bon in a distraught voice. "We came within one of killing a lot of people. I'm all in a sweat."
"I don't know what's the matter with the motor," answered Matt, "but I'm going to find out just as soon as I turn to go back on the course."
"Better descend. This is more than I can stand."
"We can't descend until we reach the right place."
Matt made a wide turn, the engine working perfectly.
"Hold on tight, below there," he called. "I've got to take my attention from running the motor for a moment, and if we give a wild pitch or two don't be afraid. I'll be able to keep the machine right side up."
"I'm pretty near all in," came from Le Bon in a subdued voice, "but it would take an axe to chop me off this trapeze."
Matt gave a quick look behind him. What he saw nearly froze him with horror.
A cobra—undoubtedly the very snake he had seen in the calliope tent—was twined about two of the electric wires.
The wires, as originally strung, were an inch and a half apart, and insulated. The coils of the six-foot cobra encircled both. As the coils contracted the wires were forced together, and two points of the copper, where the insulating material was worn off, were brought in contact. Thus a short circuit was formed and a bad leak made for the electricity.
At the moment Matt looked the coils of the cobra had loosened, causing the tightly strung wires to spring a little apart, thus restoring the spark to the cylinders. But at any moment the coils might tighten again and cause another short circuit.
As though to crown the terrors of the moment, the cobra's head was lifted from the wires by a third of the anterior length of its body—a favorite position assumed by the cobra in gliding along the earth—and the diamond-like eyes were fastened upon Matt with deadly animosity.
Motor Matt's one thought was this: If he were bitten by the snake before he had manipulated a safe landing, the swift working of the virus in his veins would keep him from doing his duty in preventing injury to the spectators below.
With white face and gleaming eyes, he turned from the cobra and manœuvred to place the aëroplane lengthwise of the roped-off space on the ground.
Before he could place the machine in proper position the motor again commenced to miss fire, and then died all over again. A groan was wrenched from Matt's lips as the machine fluttered downward toward the massed human heads underneath. The groan was echoed by Le Bon.
"We're dropping toward them again!" yelled the man below.
Matt turned in his seat, letting the aëroplane take care of itself. Throwing himself back, he caught at the hooded brown head with his hand.
There was a dart, quick as lightning, and Matt's wrist was touched as though by a hot coal. With a loud cry he flung his arm forward, dragging the full length of the cobra from the wires.
For the fraction of an instant the snake hung in midair, then yielded to the impetus of the arm to which it held and coiled sinuously outward and downward into space.
The motor had again resumed its work, but theComethung at a frightful angle and was dropping like so much lead, the atmosphere striking the planes almost on their edges.
Matt was calm, now, and cool as ever. He went to work at the levers, righted the machine within fifteen feet of the bobbing heads, and sent it upward into the air. He was alone, for Le Bon, when so close to the ground, had dropped. In fact, owing to the length of the trapeze ropes, Le Bon's feet had almost swept the heads of the terrified spectators.
Steadily upward climbed the machine.
Every moment was precious to the king of the motor boys, for if he was to receive medical aid to counteract the bite of the reptile, it could not be long deferred.
But what was the use of indulging in hope?
He had been bitten by the cobra, and the lecturer in the museum had declared that a person so injured could not hope.
Vaguely Matt wondered why the poison in his veins had not already rushed to his brain and paralyzed him into inaction. He was feeling as strong as ever, and as able to effect a safe landing without danger to the people on the show grounds.
That was the thing he had set out to accomplish, and it was the thing he would do.
Freed of Le Bon's weight, theCometwas more manageable.
With steady hand and cool, unshaken judgment, he laid theCometparallel with the road, glided downward with a rush, shut off the power, and touched the hard ground squarely between the guard ropes.
The jar of the landing was hardly perceptible, and Matt stepped out of the car, to be grabbed by McGlory and to see Burton, dismounted and anxious, at his side.
"The cobra——" began Matt.
"Killed," struck in Burton.
"Did it bite any one in the crowd?"
"No; every one was out of the way, and the fall itself nearly did the business for the reptile."
"Then get a doctor for me," said Matt, showing a trickle of blood on his wrist. "That's the cobra's mark."