BOLIVAR TURNS UP.
"You're the last person in the world, King," said Bascomb, with more injury than hostility in his voice, "who ought to butt in on me like this. If you knewall——"
He stopped short and pursed up his lips. His gloomy face and haunted eyes were touched with sadness.
"I know enough to figure out that you're trying to fool me," said Matt. "The yarn you told me back there in the gap won't wash. It's my opinion, Bascomb, that you're no more of a deputy sheriff than I am. Anyhow, I'm going to take you to McKibben, in Phœnix, and give him a chance to pass judgment on you. That other gun, if you please."
Bascomb thought the matter over for a moment, then drew the revolver.
"Do you want it?" he asked quietly.
"Throw it over there in the brush," ordered Matt. Bascomb obediently flung the weapon into the thicket. "You're right," said he, "I'm one of the gang. I ought to have known better than to try to fool you—you're too keen; but I wanted to go to Phœnix, and I wanted you to be with me on the way, so if any of Burke's men laid me by the heels I could get you to transact a little honest business for me. I'm going to town, King, and I want to get there in a rush. I'm willing to go as your prisoner and I'll make you no trouble, providing you take me to see that little girl before you take me to McKibben. Is it a bargain?"
There was something about the man that Matt liked, in spite of the deceit he had practised at the start-off of their acquaintance.
"When a fellow has lied to you once, Bascomb," returned Matt, "you never feel as though you could trusthim. But I'll go you this time. I'm going to keep this gun, though, and watch you every minute."
"That's not necessary, but I'm willing to have it that way if it will make you feel any easier in your mind."
"What was it you were going to have me do?" went on Matt. "I don't know as I want to mix up in any of your lawless operations."
"I wouldn't ask you to do that," said Bascomb sharply. "I can't tell whether I want you to do anything or not until after we get to the notch. We're losing time here," he finished, "and I've told you I'm in a hurry to reach town. You ought to know it's important when I'm willing to lose my liberty in order to get there."
"Well," returned Matt, "start on, Bascomb. You'll have to travel on foot, and I'll keep close behind you."
Without further loss of time, Bascomb swung off down the cañon.
"I can pick up a horse at the Tanks," he called back, over his shoulder, "and when we leave there we'll make better time. We'll have to stop at the notch, but I hope we won't have to be there long."
"If you're figuring on having some of the gang meet you in the notch, and side-track me," said Matt, "I don't think we'll stop there at all."
"I give you my word," protested Bascomb, "that I'm not going to make you any trouble."
"Your word's not worth very much."
Bascomb made no answer to this, but gave his undivided attention to the road and swung into a dog-trot. In less than a quarter of an hour afterward he reached the notch, Matt wheeling into it close at his heels.
Bascomb halted and looked around expectantly. Apparently he did not see what he wanted to find, and he placed his fingers on his lips and gave a shrill whistle.
Matt had the revolver in his hand, and as he waited and watched his fingers closed resolutely on the stock.
Following the whistle, there was a sound of quick movements up the steep wall. A form bounded off the shelf and came tearing down the slope in the direction of Bascomb.
A startled exclamation escaped Matt's lips. The newcomer was a dog, and the dog was the Great Dane!
It was plain that the dog recognized Matt. As the animal crouched at Bascomb's feet, his baleful eyes turned in the boy's direction, and he growled menacingly.
"I'll shoot the brute if he comes near me!" shouted Matt.
"I'll not let him touch you," answered Bascomb, stooping to pat the dog's neck. "His recollections of you aren't of the pleasantest, I reckon. Quiet, Bolivar!" he added.
The next moment Bascomb had untied a cord from the dog's collar and removed a note. He read the note quickly, then tore it in fragments and threw the pieces away. Taking a note-book from his pocket, he proceeded to pencil some words on a leaf. Tearing out the leaf he folded it compactly and carefully secured it to the leather band.
"Clear out, Bolivar!" he cried, when he had finished. "Off with you, old boy!" he added, and waved his hand toward the hills.
The dog got up, gave a final snarl at Matt, then leaped away. In a few moments he had whisked out of sight.
Matt was somewhat in doubt as to whether or not he ought to stop this proceeding. It was dear that Bascomb had received a communication from some of the scattered gang, and had sent one in return. Was he planning to help them evade Burke and his posse?
Bascomb must have divined what was going on in Matt's mind, for he turned to him as soon as Bolivar was out of sight.
"There was nothing lawless about that note, or the one I sent back, King," said he. "It was private business, entirely. Now I'm going to scribble a few lines for you, and you can read them in a few days, or any time after we get to Phœnix."
More pencil work followed in the memorandum-book. Another leaf was torn out, folded, and handed to Matt. He put it into his pocket along with the envelope returned to him by Burke.
The winding up of this incident seemed to give Bascomb a good deal of relief.
"Now," he observed, "I'm ready for a quick trip to Phœnix, and for whatever happens there."
He whirled and started through the notch at a brisk pace.
"It's not often," he continued, talking as he strode along, "that a boy makes the hit with me that you have, Matt. You'll find out why as soon as we get to where we're going. How long have you been in this part of the country?"
"A year," replied Matt.
"Where did you come from?"
"Albany, New York."
"I'd have gambled something handsome you were from the East. I'm from New York City, myself, but I've been knocking around these hills for two years. You see," he added, "I'm a close friend of Dangerfield's, and his ideas and mine, about that Chinese Exclusion Act, are identically the same. If this is a free country, how can we keep the Chinks out, any more than the Eskimos, or the Dutch, or any one else that wants to come here? There's a hundred in cold cash for every Chink that's run across the border, and Dangerfield has been smuggling them in in droves. He has the system worked out fine, and there are good, reliable men at every station on his underground line. Juan Morisco is the first of the outfit that ever went wrong."
For a while, Bascomb hurried along in silence; then he commenced talking again.
"I reckon you understand, by now, how well Dangerfield had organized his gang. There wasn't a loop-hole he didn't have watched. Men in Phœnix were looking after McKibben, and the minute Morisco was jugged they knew it; and when Morisco turned traitor and told what he knew, they found that out, too. For more than a year Dangerfield has been doing his work and laughing at the authorities. But things were getting too hot for him, and he was planning to go over into Mexico and go to mining in Sonora. He was ready for the dash across the border when Burke got wind of it and went into camp at Potter's Gap, hoping to head the gang off. Up at Tinaja Wells we knew what he was doing, and if Dangerfield hadn't sent Juan Morisco on a special mission to Phœnix the lot of us would have got away from Burke and he'd never have caught us."
Bascomb fell silent again, and for a mile or more he kept up his steady, swinging gait.
"It was you, King," he went on, but with no malice in his voice, "who put a spoke in Dangerfield's wheel. If it hadn't been for you and theComet, the governor couldn't have got word to Burke before we had all slipped past him and gotten well off toward the border. That's the way luck will take a turn sometimes."
All this was information that might be used against those of the gang who had been captured, and Matt wondered at Bascomb's recklessness in telling it.
"If José had used persuasion with Ollie instead of tying her to the wagon," Bascomb continued, with a tinge of bitterness, "there wouldn't have been any trouble, and Juan and José would have gotten clear. But a greaser never does a thing like a white man. It was while José was tying Ollie to the wagon, telling her he was doing it just to keep her from falling off, that the team got scared and began to run."
Bascomb muttered something to himself, his shoulders heaved and his hands clenched spasmodically. Some terrible emotion ran through him, as it had done before, and Matt was puzzled to account for it.
By that time they had drawn near the descent that led into the ravine. Before they started down, some one sprang out into the road in front of them.
"Matt!" yelled a familiar voice.
"Great Scott!" cried Matt, astounded. "What are you doing here, Clip?"
"Waiting for you," answered Clip, peering at Bascomb. "Think I was going back to Phœnix without finding out something about how you'd come out? Who's this?"
"One of Dangerfield's gang," said Matt. "I'm taking him in."
"Fine!" exclaimed Clip. "But don't go on just yet. The red roadster is at Frog Tanks. Those two roughs are in thetienda. If this is one of the gang, those two will make us trouble."
"An automobile?" cried Bascomb; "at the Tanks?"
Clip nodded. With a leap Bascomb sprang away down the slope.
"Bascomb!" shouted Matt. "Come back here!"
The revolver was in Matt's left hand. Before he could do anything with it, Clip grabbed it out of his hand, leveled it after the receding form, and pulled the trigger. A futilesnapfollowed. Again and again Clip tried to shoot, but always with the same result.
"I'll get him!" said Matt resolutely.
But before he could start theComet, Clip had caught him and tried to hold him back.
"They'd kill you!" growled Clip. "Your life's worth more'n a thousand dollars. Let him go."
"I'll catch him before he reaches the Tanks," answered Matt.
The motor started, and Matt was dragged out of his chum's hands.
THE RED ROADSTER AGAIN.
Bascomb was ascending the farther slope of the ravine as theCometreached the bottom. He looked over his shoulder at Matt, then promptly jumped into the rocks and started for Frog Tanks cross-lots. Bascomb could scramble and make headway up the scarred bank, but there was no chance for the motor-cycle to follow.
Nonplussed, Matt came to a halt and waited for Clip to come up with him, wheeling his crippled one-cylinder.
"Tough luck!" said Clip commiseratingly, "But it's a good thing, too. It wouldn't do for you to go to the settlement while those two men are there. They're armed. And there's something in their guns that will go off. How long were you driving the fellow in with that useless piece of hardware?"
"Something funny about that," muttered Matt.
"Did you know the revolver wasn't loaded?"
"No."
"Well, the other fellow didn't." Clip chuckled. "You're the boy to do things. Too bad you couldn't win out on this."
"Wait a minute, Clip," said Matt, "and you'll be as much at sea as I am. Bascomb knew that gun wasn't loaded."
"He did and you didn't?" Clip's eyes widened. "Then why did he let you drive him ahead with it?"
"That's where the queer part comes in. He must have been willing to be a prisoner."
"Then he changed his mind. Bolted as soon as he heard about the red roadster."
"That makes it all the more mysterious. Bascomb is a mighty hard fellow to understand."
"Let's forget it. He's gone, Matt, and that's the lastof him. Where were you at five o'clock yesterday afternoon?"
"Potter's Gap!"
"Bully!" Clip jerked off his cap and waved it. "The governor knew what he was doing when he got Motor Matt to make that 'century' run. Did our smoke-signals help?"
"Did you send up any?" queried Matt.
"Did we! Why, we started just as soon as you bolted up the cañon. 'False alarm; everything O. K.' That's the kind of smoke we sent up."
"Maybe they did help, old chap. I wasn't interfered with until I got to the divide."
"Then I was of some use, after all. There were two or three men between the notch and the divide. Tell me all about it."
Matt sketched his experiences briefly. Clip's black eyes glistened as he heard of the clash on the cliffside. Matt followed on down and told of meeting Bascomb and José at the gap, and of his travel Phœnixward with Bascomb.
Clip was vastly puzzled over Bascomb, just as Matt knew he would be.
"If he's one of the gang," said Clip, "why is he in such a hurry to get to Phœnix? Why does he want to go to Phœnix at all? It's putting his head in the lion's mouth."
"That little girl has something to do with it," declared Matt.
Clip was thoughtful for a minute.
"Here's how I size it up," said he. "That fellow, Bascomb, is what he said he was, at first. He's one of Burke's men. But he didn't want to argue the case with you. So he let you have your way. All he wanted was to get to Phœnix as quick as he could. He thinks Rags can tell him something about Dangerfield and his gang. Part of the gang's captured and part's on the run. If Bascomb can find out quick enough, maybe some more of 'em can be nabbed."
Matt shook his head.
"I don't think you've hit it off, Clip," said he.
"I'll bet money or marbles I have. That red roadster'll get Bascomb to Phœnix in short order."
"If he's one of Burke's men," argued Matt, "what will he do with the two roughs who have the machine, and are working for Bascomb?"
"He'll get the best of 'em," persisted Clip. "Anyhow, Bascomb gets the roadster. See if he don't."
"He's not armed, and the other two men are."
"Never you mind, Matt. Watch how it comes out."
Matt got off theCometand sat down on the rocks.
"How long are we going to be hung up here, Clip?" he asked.
"Till it's safe for us to pass the Tanks. It won't be long, now, if Bascomb gets in his work."
Clip braced his crippled machine up alongside theCometand dropped down beside his chum.
"What became of—of your uncle, Clip?" queried Matt, after a moment.
It was a delicate subject, and he hated to approach it. Still it covered a point that he felt he ought to know about.
The look of hurt pride flashed into Clipperton's face.
"He left me last night, Matt," said he. "I couldn't forget he was of my blood, low as he's dropped. I told him the gang was about done for; warned him to clear out. That's what he did. But he helped send up the smoke-signals."
"You did right, exactly right," approved Matt.
"Fine come-down for me, though," said Clip, through his teeth. "Nice family I've got! What's the use of trying to be somebody? Sometimes, I—I——"
A lawless light rose in Clip's eyes. Matt laid a friendly hand on his knee.
"You've got it in you to be whatever you want to make of yourself, pard," said he. "At least you know who your folks are, but I don't. I know that my name's not King, but if I'm square with myself and play the game fair, what's the odds? I hate a chap who thinks he's somebody just because his people amount to something; and I'd hate a fellow just as hard who thought he didn't amount to anything because his relatives weren't all he'd like to have them. The thing to do is to stand on your own feet, and that's theonlything!"
"It takes you to put heart into a fellow," returned Clip. "You've been a mighty good friend to Tom Clipperton. And in spite of his Indian blood. If it was known in Phœnix that my uncle——" Clip gulped on the words and did not finish.
"It will never be known there," said Matt.
"I know you'd keep still about it. If it got out in any other way, though, I'd never set foot in the town again."
"It won't get out, Clip, so let's forget it. You stayed in the ravine to wait for me?"
"Sure. I wasn't going back to Phœnix without you."
"You slept on the rocks?"
"Didn't you sleep in the gap?"
"What have you had to eat?"
"The stuff we took away from Gregory's place."
"There wasn't half a square meal in all of it!"
"I started for the Tanks, an hour ago, to get something. Saw the red roadster in front of thetiendaand changed my mind."
Matt fished his last piece of jerked beef out of his pocket and put it in Clip's hand.
"Now, regale yourself," he laughed.
Clip began on the meat, and while he was eating the pounding of a motor reached their ears.
"The automobile!" he gasped.
"And coming this way," added Matt, swerving his eyes up the slope.
"The three of them are coming back," went on Clip. "They're after us, Matt!"
"How do you make that out, Clip? If Bascomb is one of Burke's men, he couldn't be coming back with two of the Dangerfield gang. If he's coming back alone he's unarmed, and we'll be more than a match for him."
"Maybe Bascomb failed to get the roadster! Maybe the two roughs are heading this way! If——"
The words faded on Clip's lips. Just then the red roadster showed itself at the top of the rise. Bascomb was on the driver's seat and the other two men were not in evidence.
Bascomb came down the slope slowly and halted the roadster in front of the boys.
"All aboard for Phœnix!" said he calmly. "One of you get in the rumble with the machines; the other climb up here beside me. Hurry! You know I'm in a rush, Matt."
ON TO PHOENIX!
This was the biggest surprise the mysterious Bascomb had yet sprung. Clip stared at him for a moment, with jaws agape, then trundled his motor-cycle forward and lifted it into the rumble. He fixed himself on the seat, and leaned down to help Matt lift up theComet. Neither of the boys spoke—they were too bewildered.
"What you got in that canteen?" asked Bascomb.
"Gasoline," said Clip.
"Good enough! Hand it over here."
Clip unlashed the canteen and gave it to Bascomb. He at once began emptying it into the roadster's tank.
"I was afraid the fuel would play out on us," remarked Bascomb, when he had emptied the canteen, "but now we're safe for the run to town. Are you as handy with an automobile as you are with a motor-cycle, Matt?" he asked.
"I guess yes," Matt answered.
"Then get in behind the steering-wheel. I'm not much good at it, and we've got to go over the line for a record. See how quick you can get us to Phœnix."
Matt went down to the foot of the hill to turn around. When they had toiled up the bank to a level stretch, he let the roadster out, and they went through Frog Tanks like a red streak.
Jem, who had driven the car, and the other man who had left Phœnix with him, were sitting on the steps of thetienda. They made no move to stop the car, but watched moodily as it passed them.
Matt could not see Clip's face, but he knew his chum must have been thunderstruck. Matt himself had begun to take all these surprises as a matter of course.
"You thought I was running away from you, I reckon?" said Bascomb.
Matt nodded.
"Well," went on Bascomb, "I didn't have time to explain. I was afraid the roadster would get away before I could reach thetienda."
"Did you have any trouble getting it?" Matt asked.
There was a bitter undernote in the laugh Bascomb flung back.
"Why should I have any trouble?" he returned. "Those two men are not in the gang, but they're friendly toward Dangerfield. When I told them it was Dangerfield's business that was taking me to Phœnix, they were willing I should have the machine. Who's your friend, Matt?"
"My name's Tom Clipperton," said Clip, answering for himself.
Bascomb started.
"A relative of Pima Pete?" he inquired, turning around.
"What's that to you?"
"Nothing; but it may mean a lot, one of these days, to you and to Motor Matt."
There was a veiled meaning in the words, but Bascomb was full of veiled meanings. Neither Matt nor Clip pressed him for an explanation.
The power of sixty horses was tucked away under the long hood of the roadster. All this energy was under Matt's control. As always, whenever he had anything to do with motors, his delight grew as their headlong rush increased.
Up the slope they dashed, and past the place where Matt and Clip had had their encounter with Jem and the other ruffian. The little adobe at the desert well leaped at them and fell away behind with the swiftness of thought.
Three men and two horses were standing in front of the adobe. One of the men was Gregory. The other two were put to it to keep their horses from getting away. Matt recognized both the horsemen as belonging to Sheriff Burke's posse.
"Do you know those two with the horses?" shouted Bascomb, in Matt's ear.
Matt ducked his head.
"And you didn't stop! A good thing for you, Motor Matt. You're beginning to trust me a little, and you'll not lose by it."
The afternoon sun was half-way down the sky. The gray desert sparkled and gleamed in front of the roadster, but behind it was blotted out by the dust of that mad flight.
Andwhythey were racing, Matt did not know. "Hit 'er up! Hit 'er up!" was the constant cry of Bascomb.
In the narrow seat behind, Clip lurched, and swayed, and rattled the motor-cycles.
"Hang on, Clip!" yelled Matt. "We don't want to drop you off."
"Never mind me," roared Clip. "I'm in the seat about half the time. On the motor-cycles the other half. But you can't loose me."
They reached the Black Cañon road and went spinning into it, some of the wheels in the air. Down the old familiar Black Cañon road they shot, and fairly jumped the bridge at the canal.
"You're a wonder, Motor Matt!" cried Bascomb huskily. "I've seen driving, in my time, but never any like this!"
"If it's speed you want——"
"You're giving it to me! It may be a race with Death who—who knows?"
Matt pondered those words as well as he could with every faculty centered in the running of the car.
"You're mighty anxious to get yourself behind the bars, Bascomb," said he.
"Bars!" burst out the man. "What do I care for bars and stone walls at a time like this? Take me to the house where you left Ollie—the shortest way."
"Ollie?"
"The little girl. Didn't she tell you her name?"
"She said it was 'Rags.'"
A groan came from Bascomb's lips.
"That's what it's been for the two years I've been in Arizona. Now that everything was going to be different,thishad to happen. Hit 'er up, King! Can't you do better?"
Every pound of power was purring in the cylinders. No motor ever made had run as sweetly, nor hurled a car over a road so surely and easily. The machinery responded instantly to the slightest touch.
Matt's blood tingled with the joy of it all. He ceased to bother his brain with Bascomb and his affairs, wrapping himself completely in the noble work of the roadster.
It was not necessary to go through Phœnix to reach the McReady home. A cross-road from the Black Cañon road would place them in the thoroughfare that ran past the house.
Matt took the cross-road on two wheels, and, half a minute later, lurched into the main thoroughfare in the same way.
A horse and buggy were standing in front of the McReady gate. Matt slowed down so as not to frighten the horse.
"Why are you doing that?" asked Bascomb hoarsely.
Matt nodded toward the rig.
"We don't want to have a runaway," he answered.
"How much farther have we got to go?"
"That horse and buggy are in front of the house. They belong to the doctor."
"That means," faltered Bascomb, "that—that——"
"That the doctor's making a call."
Matt brought up the roadster beside the walk, a little way from the horse. Bascomb was over the side of the car before it had fairly stopped. He ran to the gate, threw it open, and hurried along the front walk to the porch.
Matt followed him as quickly as he could. He got to the gate in time to see Welcome Perkins and Chub confronting Bascomb at the steps.
"What's the matter with ye?" Welcome was demanding. "Don't ye know we got sick folks in this house? Ye're slammin' around like ye didn't care how much noise ye made."
"Is the little girl here?" queried Bascomb, lowering his voice.
"She's here, all right, but she can't be disturbed. The doctor's in there——"
"Matt!" exclaimed Chub, catching sight of his chum for the first time. "Well, I wasn't expectin' to see you. Who is this feller? Put me wise. What's the matter with him?"
"He wants to see Rags," said Matt. "Let him into the house."
"But she can't last long, Matt, and the doctor said she wasn't to be disturbed."
Bascomb leaped up the steps, pushed Welcome and Chub right and left with his strong arms, opened the door, and disappeared inside the house.
"Shade o' Gallopin' Dick!" scowled Welcome. "That feller acts like he owned the place. What in tarnation ails him?"
Matt did not take time to answer. Stepping to the open door, he looked in.
Bascomb, just over the threshold, was confronted by the doctor and Susie.
"What's the meaning of this?" asked the doctor, in a low tone.
"I want to see the girl," panted Bascomb. "This is no time to say no to me."
"Who are you?"
"That's nothing to you. I've got as good a right here as anybody."
Bascomb hurried on to the couch. Rags, her tangled hair lying all about her on the pillow, was lying quietly, with closed eyes. Bascomb stumbled to his knees beside the couch.
"Ollie!" he murmured. "Ollie?"
Matt saw the eyes open and stare upward into the face bowed over the couch. Then, as he, and the doctor, and Susie breathlessly watched and listened, the little girl's arms went up and twined about the man's neck.
"Dad!" she murmured. "Am I dreamin', 'r w'at? Is it yous, dad?"
The doctor started, then, seizing his hat, he vanished from the room, got into his buggy, and whipped away as fast as his horse could travel.
THE END OF THE MYSTERY.
Matt and Susie withdrew to the porch and softly closed the door behind them. The minds of both of them were in a daze. There were tears in Susie's eyes.
"Fellers useter act that way when I was rampin' around in the hills," growled Welcome, with a fierce look at the closed door; "but they was mostly lawless, an' didn't keer fer no one. I got a mind to go right in there an' drive the feller out!"
"Sh-h-h!" admonished Susie; "not so loud, Welcome. It's Rags' father."
"Father!" echoed Welcome, Chub, and Clip.
"Yes," said Matt. "Don't it beat anything you ever heard of, Clip? Bascomb is Rags' father! No wonder he was in a hurry to get here. José, the Mexican that was with Juan Morisco when the team ran away, found Bascomb in the hills and told him of the accident. After I fell in with Bascomb he started to asking me about Rags. I'd no sooner told how badly hurt she was, when he got in the biggest kind of a hurry to reach Phœnix."
"We certainly got here on the jump," said Clip. "If you want to get speed out of a motor, put Motor Matt in charge."
"Didn't Rags tell you anything about herself?" asked Matt.
"Not a word," said Chub.
"And she can't get well?"
Susie shook her head.
"Who's her father, anyhow?" spoke up Welcome.
"Joe Bascomb," answered Matt. "He's one of the Dangerfield gang."
"You been mixin' up with that gang, Matt King?" went on Welcome.
"You bet he has," said Clip. "Matt's done a lot of mixing. Pretty hot, some of it."
"Where'd you go so sudden, pard?" came from Chub. "What was it the governor wanted of you?"
"He wanted me to turn a 'century' in five hours," answered Matt.
"Up Castle Creek Cañon and over the divide, at that," interpolated Clip. "He did it in less than five hours. And fought smugglers all the way."
"But where'd he pick up this Bascomb?" persisted Welcome. "That's what's worryin' me a hull lot."
"It's too long a yarn to spin now, Welcome," replied Matt. "You'll get it all some time. What came over the doctor all at once? Does anybody know?"
"Not me," said Chub. "He dug out o' here like he had a hurry-up call over in town somewhere. Never said a word, but just rolled into his buggy and began kicking up the dust."
"He's coming back," reported Clip, his eyes up the road. "Seems to be in as big a rush to get back as he was to get away."
"That isn't the doctor," said Susie, as the rig drew nearer. "There are two men in the buggy and neither of them is the doctor."
"One's McKibben," said Chub, "and the other is Sparks, his deputy. I'm next now. The doctor found out Bascomb was one of the Dangerfield gang, and hot-footed it for the sheriff's office."
The rig drew up with a rush in front of the gate, and the two officers dropped out. Leaving Sparks to tie the horse, McKibben hurried into the yard. Matt went down the porch steps to meet him.
"Ah, King!" exclaimed the sheriff, a sparkle in his eyes. "I thought you'd be back to-day. Made good, as usual, eh? The doctor says one of the gang is here."
"He's in the house," said Matt. "He's the father of the little girl, and——"
"The doctor told me that. Ever since Morisco told me what he knew, I've been half-expecting this would happen. The only thing in the way was having the girl's father find out how badly she was hurt. Who told him?"
"The Mexican that rode off on the horse when you arrested Morisco."
"He couldn't have told him all—he didn't know it."
"Well, I told Bascomb what I knew."
"Bascomb?" queried the sheriff.
"That's the man's name."
"Oh!"
"I'd leave him alone in there for a while, Mr. McKibben," went on Matt. "He's having a hard time of it."
"I'll not bother him yet." McKibben turned to his deputy who was just coming through the gate. "Go around to the rear of the house, Sparks," said he, "and see that he don't get out that way."
Sparks disappeared around the corner of the building.
"Did Morisco tell you anything about the girl, Mr. McKibben?" queried Matt.
"He told me all about her," replied the sheriff. "Morisco was sent on here to get the girl and take her out to the Rio Verde. When the gang came along her father was to pick her up and take her with him to Mexico. This here Bascomb came from the East, and left the girl behind him. From what I got from Morisco, I figure that the little one had a hard time of it. Bascomb, knowing the gang was soon going to change its location, sent East and had the girl come to Phœnix. José is a brother of Juan's, and Bascomb had the wood-hauler take charge of his daughter until he could get hold ofher himself. When a man's a criminal, his operations are a bit hampered. That's the way it was with Bascomb. He had to watch his chance, send Juan in to town, and have him bring the girl to the Rio Verde. Only Juan didn't. Matters went a little wrong for him. Trust a couple of greasers to botch things up! Why, one of my men had spotted Juan Morisco the minute he hit the Mexican quarter. We couldn't just identify him, that was all. A piece of courtplaster covered the scar on his face. The governor will be mighty tickled, Matt, when he hears how you've made good."
"Have you heard how Burke came out?"
"Got a wire from Prescott an hour ago. Six of the gang were captured at Tinaja Wells; the rest, including Dangerfield, made a run of it and got clear. But I reckon the smuggling of Chinks into this section has been pretty well discouraged. You did a cracking good piece of work for Uncle Sam yesterday, my boy."
"I wish it had turned out a little different," said Matt, looking away.
"Different?" asked the sheriff. "How do you mean?"
"If poor little Rags could only have pulled through——"
"We've got to take those things as we find 'em," said McKibben gruffly. "It's hard lines, of course, and I'm sorry for Bascomb. But he brought it all on himself. If he'd have led an honest life, Rags wouldn't have been left to shift for herself. Every man that goes wrong pays the penalty—and sometimes makes others pay part of it. How long has he been in there?" The sheriff nodded toward the house.
"About half an hour," answered Matt.
"I reckon that's long enough."
McKibben walked to the steps and ascended to the front door. Just as he was about to lay his hand on the knob, the door opened and Bascomb shambled out.
He hardly looked like the same man. His shoulders were drooping forward, his head was bowed, and his face was heavy with grief. McKibben stepped up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Bascomb started at the touch and lifted his head passively.
"Well?" said he, in a low tone.
"You're under arrest, Dangerfield," said McKibben.
Matt and Clip hardly believed their ears. Dangerfield! Had McKibben made a mistake?
"Nothing much matters now, McKibben," returned the prisoner wearily. He held out his hands, wrists together. "I'm not armed, and I wouldn't make you any trouble if I was."
A pair of handcuffs were snapped into place, and the sheriff tucked a hand under his prisoner's arm and led him down from the porch.
"All right, Sparks!" called the sheriff.
While the deputy was coming around the house, the prisoner turned to Matt.
"Joe Bascomb Dangerfield, King, is my full name," said he. "I only gave you part of it. Some things you didn't understand before I suppose are perfectly clear to you now."
He faced the sheriff.
"Understand this, McKibben," he went on, "it was Matt King who brought me in. He took charge of me in Castle Creek Cañon. The reward goes to him."
"He'll be taken care of," said McKibben briefly.
Once more Dangerfield turned to Matt.
"You did your best for Ollie, King," he continued, a shake in his voice. "Give me your hand."
The handcuffs rattled as Matt shook the prisoner's hand; then, between McKibben and Sparks, Dangerfield was led away.
Criminal though Dangerfield was, Matt pitied him from the bottom of his heart. Instead of using the doctor's rig for the return to town, the officers appropriated the red roadster. Sparks got in behind, with the prisoner, and McKibben took the driver's seat. They were soon across the bridge and lost to sight.
"Waal, snakes alive!" muttered Welcome Perkins. "Blamed if Matt didn't ketch the leader o' the gang without never knowin' it."
Matt whirled and went into the house. Susie was already in the front room. She motioned toward the couch.
Rags was lying still and silent, her hands crossed on her breast.
MATT REPORTS TO THE GOVERNOR.
It was half-past five that afternoon when theCometcame to a halt at the steps of the capitol building. Motor Matt, in no very cheerful frame of mind, got off the machine and made his way to the governor's office.
"Why, it's King!" smiled the secretary, meeting him in the outer room.
"Is the governor here yet?" asked Matt.
"Yes, and expecting you. Mr. McKibben is with him. The governor usually goes home at half-past four, but he stayed later to-day, expressly to get your report. Just a minute."
The secretary went to the door of the private office, knocked, and vanished inside.
"Go right in," said he, when he had reappeared.
Cap in hand, Motor Matt passed into the other room. Governor Gaynor met him at the door with a warm handclasp.
"Motor Matt, King of the Motor Boys!" exclaimed the governor, leading Matt to a chair. "Sit down, my lad," said he. "I'm not going to let you get away from here for quite a while."
Matt pulled the envelope from his pocket.
"There, governor," said he, handing it over, "that will tell you what time I made on that 'century' run."
Governor Gaynor read the penciled words on the back of the envelope, and laughed. Then he passed the writing on to McKibben. The sheriff chuckled.
"What's the matter with it?" asked Matt, puzzled.
"Didn't you read it?" asked McKibben.
"Haven't had much time to read it, Mr. McKibben, since the sheriff gave it to me."
"Listen," and the sheriff read the following:
"'Governor: This will certify that Motor Matt delivered your message to me at five minutes of five, of the same day he carried it out of Phœnix. It will also certify that he made the pluckiest and most successful hundred-mile run ever pulled off in the Southwest. You ought to make him your official courier, at ten thousand a year.Burke.'"
"'Governor: This will certify that Motor Matt delivered your message to me at five minutes of five, of the same day he carried it out of Phœnix. It will also certify that he made the pluckiest and most successful hundred-mile run ever pulled off in the Southwest. You ought to make him your official courier, at ten thousand a year.
Burke.'"
Matt flushed.
"Oh, I don't know that the trip was anything to brag about," said he. "Luck was with me—and theCometcan go."
"Luck and pluck have a way of moving along together," said the governor, taking a roll of bills from the desk and handing them to Matt. "There's your hundred. But for your work, Matt, Burke would have been helpless. I am pleased to say that there'll be a thousand more coming to you just as soon as a few formalities can be attended to. You won't leave for Denver until after that?"
"Had I ought to take that reward-money, governor? I don't feel right about it, somehow."
"Well, bless my soul!" exclaimed the governor. "It's good money, and well-earned."
"What's more, Dangerfield himself wants you to have it," put in McKibben. "It's the queerest situation I ever went up against, governor," he added, turning to Gaynor. "In spite of the fact that Matt captured Dangerfield and brought him in, the boy seems to have made a bigger hit with Dangerfield than with any one else."
"I didn't really capture him, Mr. McKibben," protested Matt. "Dangerfield was coming to Phœnix, anyway."
"Well, he's trying to help you to the tune of a thousand dollars, and you'd better let him. Of course," went on McKibben whimsically, "Sparks and I can use the money if you can't."
"There—there'll be some expenses on Rags' account," said Matt, "and I want those to come out of the money."
The governor leaned back in his chair and studied Matt thoughtfully.
"You're a queer one, Matt," said he, "and your sentiments are an honor to you. Let it go that way, McKibben," he added to the sheriff.
"Sure!" said the sheriff heartily.
"And now," went on the governor, handing McKibben a cigar and lighting one for himself, "tell us the whole thing, Matt, from start to finish. Don't leave anything out. I don't care if I never get supper."
Matt plunged into the recital. There were parts of it he tried to glide over, but neither McKibben nor Gaynor would let him. One or the other was always ready with an adroit question which brought out the whole story.
"Why," said the governor, when Matt had finished, "that 'century' run alone was enough to make you famous, but the finest part of your work was the way you came in with Dangerfield."
"You can't beat it!" declared McKibben. "I need a deputy sheriff, Matt. How'd you like the job?"
Matt shook his head. The sheriff was joking, and Matt knew it. Anyhow, one job like that he had just finished was enough for Matt.
"I'm going to need a secretary pretty soon," remarked the governor; and he was in earnest, even if the sheriff had not been. "How would you likethatjob?"
"I'd like it fine," answered Matt, "if there was a gasoline motor mixed up in it."
"I wish there were," murmured the governor, "for I can see where your work is cut out for you." He got up and took his hat. "I'll see you again before you start for Denver. It will probably be a few days before that thousand will be turned over."
They left the office together, and the governor got into his automobile at the curb.
"What will they do with Dangerfield, Mr. McKibben?" inquired Matt, as he got ready to ride home on theComet.
"He'll stand trial, along with the six men captured by Burke," replied the sheriff. "All of them will get good, long terms in a government prison. Also," added the sheriff, "the two rascals who got out of town ahead of you in that red roadster will have a chance to explain matters. I'm holding the car, and they'll have to come to me after it."
The red roadster was never claimed. Probably this is not to be wondered at, considering the difficulties the two men would have gotten themselves into had they shown up at the sheriff's office.
Who the men were was never discovered. They had been boarding in an obscure hotel, and had kept the machine in a private garage. It was supposed that they were criminals of some sort, and, if not actually allied with the Dangerfield gang, had been commissioned by the leader to keep watch of the sheriff.
Yet, be that as it might, both men vanished from Frog Tanks and were never afterward located.
Two days later Ollie Dangerfield was laid away under the palms and umbrella-trees in the Phœnix cemetery.
Susie, Chub, Welcome, Matt, Clip, and many others of the townspeople attended the funeral. The little girl's story had become known through the town, and had excited much interest and a good deal of sympathy for Dangerfield.
During the days that followed, and while Matt was waiting for the reward, a great plan had formed itself in Clipperton's brain. He called on Matt at Mrs. Spooner's, and placed it before him in all its dazzling grandeur.
"That red roadster is a fine car, Matt," said Clip. "You ought to know. What do you say?"
"It's a fast car," answered Matt guardedly. "Why, Clip? What of it?"
"Suppose nobody claims it? What will be done with it?"
"Give it up."
"Couldn't it be bought? Ought to be a bargain."
"Look here!" cried Matt, starting up in his chair. "What are you trying to get through your head, anyhow?"
"Why, it would be a heap easier for us. On that Denver trip, I mean. If we could get hold of that——"
"That's a dream, old chap," laughed Matt. "Where's the money to come from?"
"You'll have some. I can raise as much, I reckon."
A motor-car!
Matt's enthusiasm must have shown in his face. He knew Clip's project was impracticable, for, even if they could raise money enough between them to get the red roadster, it would have been madness to put all their funds into such a venture.
"We can do it, Matt!" cried Clip excitedly.
"No, Clip," returned Matt, coming down to earth again, "we can't do it. We'd look nice with all our money tied up in an automobile, wouldn't we? Get your machine fixed——"
"I've had it fixed."
"Well, the motor-cycles ought to be good enough for us."
"Don't you ever want an automobile? Wouldn't you rather have it than a motor-cycle?"
"Sure; but we can't afford to own one. By the way, just to change the subject a little, I've got something here that'll interest you."
Matt took a folded paper out of his pocket.
"What is it?" inquired Clip, stepping to Matt's side.
"Just a minute, Clip," said Matt. "Did I tell you that Dangerfield gave me a note, there in the notch, on our way to Phœnix, and told me to read it any time after we reached town?"
Clip nodded.
"Well, I just read that note an hour ago. Most of the things we couldn't understand about Dangerfield have been cleared up, but here's a new mystery."
"You say it concerns me?" asked Clip, surprised.
"In a way, yes. Read it, and you'll see how."
Clip opened the note. It ran as follows:
"Motor Matt: In a few days one of my men, named Pima Pete, will try to get your help in a certain undertaking. It's an honest undertaking, too, and I advise you to do what you can.You will find it profitable to yourself.Bascomb."
"Motor Matt: In a few days one of my men, named Pima Pete, will try to get your help in a certain undertaking. It's an honest undertaking, too, and I advise you to do what you can.You will find it profitable to yourself.
Bascomb."
The name of Pima Pete brought a flush to Clipperton's face.
"If Pete shows himself," said he, "he'll be arrested."
"I guess he knows that, all right," answered Matt. "Whatever the work is, he may find a way of asking my help without doing it in person."
"Will you help him?"
"That depends, Clip. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."
"As you say," said Clipperton, "it's a thing that interests me. Promise me one thing: That you'll give me a chance to help Pima Pete myself, in case you hear from him."
"I had already made up my mind to that, Clip," replied Motor Matt. "It may be a false alarm, though, and nothing come of it."
Clip shook his head.
"I don't think Dangerfield is in the habit of giving false alarms. Something is going to happen. And soon."
Whether Clip would prove a true prophet or not, only the future could tell, but Matt, having won out, did not mean to borrow trouble, and so, boylike, let the morrow take care of itself.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (4) WILL CONTAIN
MOTOR MATT'S RACE
OR,
The Last Flight of theComet.
Trouble On the Road—The Stampede—Clip's Note—McKibben's Tip—A Victim of Circumstances—The Pride of Tom Clipperton—Laying Plans—The Rifled Cache—The Break in the Road—Prescott—Matt Makes a New Move—The Old Hopewell Tunnel—Quick Work—Steam vs. Gasoline—In Court—Conclusion.
Trouble On the Road—The Stampede—Clip's Note—McKibben's Tip—A Victim of Circumstances—The Pride of Tom Clipperton—Laying Plans—The Rifled Cache—The Break in the Road—Prescott—Matt Makes a New Move—The Old Hopewell Tunnel—Quick Work—Steam vs. Gasoline—In Court—Conclusion.
NEW YORK, March 13, 1909.
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"I really think it was just the neatest thing that I ever did in that line," said the grizzled old Captain Gapsill.
"To what do you allude?" I inquired, knowing that I was about to hear something interesting.
"That little affair I had with Black Ben."
"Black Ben? Who is he?"
"Hain't you ever heard tell of him?" demanded the captain, in amazement; and then, recollecting himself, he added: "I forgot; that was before your time—at least, you must have been quite a younker then. Black Ben, next to Mike Fink, was one of the greatest pirates that ever infested the Mississippi."
"What became of him?"
"I was going to tell you. In the first place, you mustn't imagine he was a negro because he was called Black Ben. He had a skin as dark as a mulatto's, and a fearful lot of great, black, bushy hair, which stood up like bristles; and, as he always went without a hat, I can tell you he was just about the most villainous-looking creature you ever saw. Besides that, he had jet-black whiskers, short and sticking out like needles, and growing up almost to his eyes; so when you looked at him you saw about a bushel of black, bristling hair, and in the midst his great eyes glowing like coals of fire. He wasn't more than five feet in height; he had short legs, very long arms, and immense muscular power. He generally went dressed as a backwoodsman, and had two comrades—ordinary-looking men, but as bloody and merciless cutthroats as he.
"Black Ben had been seen as far up as Cairo, and as low down as Natchez. He was such a queer-looking creature that it was impossible for him to disguise himself enough to go among the towns or where he would have run any danger. His principal hunting-ground was from the mouth of the Arkansas north to the Tennessee line. Here he had all the opportunity he wished for hiding himself, and I don't believe a party of red Indians ever could have hunted him to his hole. If he hadn't met his fate in the queer manner he did he might have hunted there until he died of old age.
"In those days a great many flatboats used to pass down the Mississippi on their way to New Orleans, and these were the favorite prey of Black Ben and his men. As the river navigation, with its snags and sawyers, is always so dangerous, these boats often lay to under the bank during the night, when the chances are ten to one that the sharp eyes of these pirates detected them, and, at the dead hour of midnight, they stole out as silently as shadows, crept over the boat, cut the throats of the unsuspicious sleepers, gutted the craft, then scuttled it and set it afloat. Out in deep water it would sink, and that would be the last ever seen or heard of that flatboat.
"Black Ben was a horrid dog, and it was no wonder that there was such terror of him all along the river. Captain Hallongton, an old friend of mine, had his boat served in this manner, but the night was so dark that he managed to swim off, although his three men were every one of them murdered. The captain had a hard story to tell, and he offered five hundred dollars to any one who would shoot this bloody cutthroat.
"I had been from Cincinnati down to New Orleans fully a dozen times without once encountering this redoubtable Blue Beard. I had lain to at a place where, it was said, he would be sure to find us; but never once did we catch sight or sound of him, and I would have doubted his existence but for the testimony of Captain Hallongton and his friends, whom I could not refuse to believe.
"'It is strange that I never meet him.' I once said, when he and I were conversing together regarding this river outlaw. 'It must be that he is either afraid of me, or else has a feeling of friendship toward me.'
"'Don't congratulate yourself too soon,' replied my friend. 'Depend upon it, Black Ben will yet pay you a visit.'
"'I have heard so much of him that I must say my curiosity is really greater than my terror.'
"'See here!' interrupted the captain, starting up in sudden excitement; 'you're going to start down the river next week?'
"'A week from to-morrow.'
"'Good! You take Dick and Tom, your usual help?'
"'Of course.'
"'I ship with you as a common hand, just on purpose to help you to a sight of Black Ben. What do you say?'
"The proposition struck me very favorably, and I urged the captain to it. As he was ten times as rich as I was, I didn't exactly like the idea of his going as a common hand, although on my flatboat there was no other position for him. It was finally agreed that he should pass himself as one of my assistants; but as there was no need of his work, he was to do little more than dress himself as such, to deceive any one whom we might encounter, while he might accommodate the labor to himself.
"We made all our arrangements as if certain of encountering this fellow. We went more fully armed than we ever did before, and it was agreed that when we reached that part of the river where we had reason to expect the appearance of Black Ben, or where there was the least likelihood of his seeing us, that nobody should show themselves above deck except Captain Hallongton and myself. This was for the purpose of making the pirate believe there were only two of us on board, and thus luring him on to what we hoped would be his destruction.
"Well, we swung loose from Cincinnati one fine morning, and in due time reached the Mississippi, and lay to at Memphis, Tennessee, one stormy night, where we fixed everything to our satisfaction. When we started next morning, Tom and Dick were sent down below in the cabin, with the understanding that they were not to show themselves until they had permission to do so.
"It was late in the autumn of 1838, and I remember that the weather was quite chilly, so much so that both Hallongton and myself kept on our overcoats all the time. We passed to and fro, plainly showing ourselves to any one who might be along the bank. Tom and Dick were allowed to come up only when the night was dark, and then they exchanged places with us, so that under no circumstances were more than two of us visible at the same time.
"Down below Helena, on the Arkansas side, we had fixed as the place where we might reasonably look for the appearance. There was a long stretch of wood country, where the wretch's most inhuman deeds had been located.
"It was a cold, blustering night that we worked our boat under the wooded shore and made fast to the identical spot, where my friend had had his memorable adventure with Black Ben. He recognized it by several landmarks, and assured me that we would hear from the gentleman before many hours had passed over our heads.
"For the last few miles, before tying up, we had kept up a sharp scrutiny of the shores, in the hope of detecting some signs of the outlaw. I saw nothing; but Hallongton was positive he caught several glimpses of a man flitting along the Arkansas bank, and maintaining a sharp watch upon our movements.
"After we had securely tied up our boat, we went below, after our supper, and then made our final arrangements. I should state here that my flatboat was one made after a fashion of my own. It was long and quite narrow, the cabin being, as usual, in the rear. This was made of double thick planking, immediately adjoining the cargo, which stretched away to the bow. A small orifice had been bored through this planking, so that one in the cabin could talk in a whisper to one who was in the main body of the boat among our cargo of pork. This was done at the suggestion of Captain Hallongton, in accordance with a plan which we had formed between us.
"When it was fully dark, Tom and Dick crept carefully over the cabin, in among the pork, and took their position near the hole which I have just mentioned. When we had chatted together a while, Hallongton did the same, while I maintained my place near the cabin.
"We were so close under the bank that a long limb hung directly over the cabin.
"As it looked quite thick and strong, I grasped it with my hands and swung myself upon it. The next moment I had climbed to the top of the tree, and seated myself near the trunk astride of a large limb, where I patiently awaited whatever was to come.
"Our plans were fully agreed upon, and I knew that I might have sat there until morning without hearing a word from them, or detecting an impatient movement upon their part.
"The night, for a time, was pitchy dark, but the moon soon came up over the river, shedding a light which made the opposite shore visible, and gave me a little uneasiness as to whether I would not be detected from the ground below. However, as our line of action had been agreed upon, it was now too late for us to make any change in our part of the program.
"I was speculating on these matters, when a slight noise below attracted my attention, and, looking down, I could discern a dark body, moving cautiously toward the boat. In the shadow of the wood, the gloom was too great to make out its identity; but, while I was looking, it leaped as lightly and dexterously as a monkey upon the gunwale, and the next minute I saw that Black Ben was on the flatboat.
"In the bright moonlight he was plainly visible, and answered perfectly the description which I have given. He circled around the boat with the silence of a phantom, and finally halted near the cabin and listened as if to hear the breathing of those within. Having finished his reconnoisance, he sprang lightly ashore and disappeared.
"I had seen no one but Black Ben, but a slight noise heard when he was on the boat satisfied me that he had one companion at least with him, and I was sure that he would speedily return.
"I was now anxious to hear whether Captain Hallongton had seen the pirate and whether he was 'posted.'
"To satisfy myself, I gave a low whistle. It was immediately replied to—a fact which convinced me that my friends were 'all right.'
"It was plain that Black Ben had no suspicion of the little plan which we had concocted for his benefit; but whether that same little plan of ours would miscarry or not was another question, for we knew that the outlaw was a desperate character, who would play the mischief if he should ever get into close quarters.
"Now came a period of watching and waiting, continued so long that I had great fear that Black Ben had scented danger and concluded to give us a wide berth. Fully two hours passed away, with me shivering and cramped in the tree; but I had resolved to stay there until morning if the outlaw did not make his appearance before that time.
"It could not have been far from midnight when I caught the rustling of bushes beneath me, and I felt sure that Black Ben was there; but, as I peered down, I was disappointed in discerning not a man, but a large black bear that was lumbering along the shore and awkwardly approaching the flatboat. Reaching it, he waded into the water, snuffed around the boat, poked his nose against it, struck his paws against it, and made a racket which struck me as singular upon the part of a bear.
"'I would soon stop your sport,' I reflected, 'if I were not watching for bigger game.'
"I was watching the brute, when something in his manner of moving about attracted my suspicion, and I scanned him more narrowly than I had yet done. My heart gave a great leap as I penetrated the ruse, and discovered that instead of the object under me being a bear, it was only a man disguised as such. His object in making such a tumult around the boat was evidently to learn whether the men on board were asleep.
"Occasionally the creature paused and was perfectly still, as if listening; but nothing but the sullen surging of the muddy Mississippi, or the dipping of some overhanging branch was heard, and, becoming satisfied that everything was in the shape desired, the bear withdrew from the water, and tumbled away into the wood, in a style which he hardly would have dared to use had he been aware that a pair of eyes were intently scrutinizing his every movement.
"A half-hour later, a form sprang from the dark line of wood which lined the shore, landing on the gunwale of the boat at a single bound. One glance was sufficient for me to see that Black Ben had boarded theGeneral Jackson, and that the critical moment was at hand.
"The hideous-looking creature glided as swiftly and silently as a shadow from one part of the boat to the other, in order to assure himself that no one was watching in any of the out-of-the-way places. He then glided back to the cabin and made a single motion with his arm. The response was in the shape of another dark form, which leaped beside him with all the agility of a monkey.
"From where I sat I had both of these precious scamps in range, and I could have sent a bullet crashing through both of them; but, as that was not the plan agreed upon, I concluded to wait.
"As I had always understood that Black Ben was accompanied by two men, I looked for the appearance of his companion; but, as the bushy-headed chief turned his head uponthe shore the instant he was joined by his friend, I supposed that he was absent, and would not appear in this matter, which pleased me greatly, as it could not but make the matter all the more easy for us.
"The two villains put their heads together and seemed to converse a while in the same manner that you frequently see horses or cows do. Agreeing upon their course of action, Black Ben quietly drew back the slide which covered the door which communicated with the cabin. Flashing a sort of bull's-eye lantern down into the gloom, he leaned his head forward and scanned every part of the cabin.
"And I know what he saw. What were apparently two human forms wrapped up in their blankets and sound asleep. The next instant the sharp report of two pistols in immediate succession broke the stillness, and Black Ben and his comrade sprang down into the cabin.
"Just what we wanted. Hardly a second had elapsed when I was on deck, and had slid the door back to its place at the same moment that Captain Hallongton and Tom and Dick hurriedly clambered up beside me.
"'We've got 'em!' exclaimed the captain delightedly. 'Be quick and fasten that down.'
"Everything had been prepared for such a dénouement as this, and not ten seconds passed ere we had Black Ben and his friend firmly imprisoned.
"The next proceeding of Captain Hallongton was to dance a double shuffle upon the deck and exclaim: 'We've got him! we've got him!'