A QUEER SITUATION.
Brady had made no resistance. When attacked by Matt, he had allowed
himself to be overborne without a struggle. The young motorist,
however, was well acquainted with Brady's treacherous nature and
thought he was playing a part. Paying no attention to his request to be
left free for a talk, Matt continued to keep tight hold of him.
"Get a rope, Carl," said he.
"On der chump!" answered Carl, starting at once for the car.
"I'm not putting up any fight, King," spoke up Brady; "you can see
that, and it ought to be proof that I haven't any hostile intentions.
Do you suppose I'd have come here alone if I'd wanted to rough things
with you?"
"There's never any telling what you'll do," answered Matt. "You're full
of tricks, Brady; not only that, but you're an escaped convict. You're
playing some kind of a game, but you're not going to catch us, I can
tell you that."
Brady fell silent. When Carl got back with the rope he allowed himself
to be tied.
"Now," said he, as he lay helpless on the ground, "if you're satisfied,
we can talk."
Considering the temper he had, he showed a most remarkable command of
himself.
"I haven't any objections to talking with you," returned Matt, "but
nothing you can say is going to keep us from handing you over to the
police. Carl," and here he turned to his Dutch chum, "you go to the
other side of the trees and keep a sharp watch for some of the rest of
the gang. And you, Dick," he added to Ferral, "keep your eyes skinned
on this side. It won't do to let Pete or Whipple sneak up on us while
Brady is holding our attention."
"Ve fool him vonce oof he dries dot," said Carl, moving away to the
position assigned him.
"Right-o," agreed Ferral. "We know too much about Brady to let him pull
the wool over our eyes."
As Brady lay bound, Matt went through his pockets, looking for a
weapon. His search was unsuccessful. Brady laughed harshly as the lad
drew away with empty hands.
"You'll not find any shooting irons about me, King," said he. "Why, I
haven't so much as a pocket knife in my clothes. That's more proof that
I didn't come here with any hostile intentions against you and your
friends."
"Where did you get that uniform?" asked Matt sternly.
"It belongs to one of the guards at the prison."
"He gave it to you and helped you get away?"
"Not much he didn't. I knocked him over the head, got into his uniform
and walked out of the 'pen.' That's how I made my get-away."
"When you were sent up you said you'd get clear and play even with me."
"I've made up my mind to play even with somebody else, and want you to
help me with the Hawk."
The audacity of this proposition staggered Matt.
"You must be crazy, Brady," said he, "if you think I'd help you in any
of your underhand schemes. You came here and wrote that forged letter?"
"I came directly here from the prison," replied Brady, with the utmost
frankness, "and have been hiding in that deserted stone quarry. Just
as I told you, I wrote that letter and ran the risk of discovery by
getting a boy to bring me an envelope and a sheet of paper, and then to
take the letter to La Grange and mail it."
"Why did you use Dave Glennie's name?"
"Because I thought it would bring you, and I didn't think of anything
else that would fetch you this way."
"Well, you overreached yourself. Instead of making us your prisoners,
we have turned the tables on you; and we're going to get you away from
here before the rest of your gang show up."
"They'll not show up," declared Brady, "and I didn't get you and your
friends here to make any trouble for you."
It was a queer condition of affairs--so queer, in fact, that Matt would
not take any stock in it.
"What did you bring us here for?" he asked incredulously.
"To help my girl," replied Brady, in a voice that seemed perfectly
sincere. "She has helped you a good many times, King, and I supposed
you would be willing to do something for her."
"I would do anything for Miss Brady, but I don't think that you, even
though you are her father, have her best interests at heart. When you
were captured, over in Michigan, you swore you would get even with your
daughter, just as you would with me."
"A few days have made a different man of me, King. I got a letter while
I was in prison, telling how the girl had been spirited away from the
home of her friends, in Chicago. I know who did that, and I know why
it was done. Helen needs help--she must have it soon--and if you won't
come with me and help me with the Hawk, there's no telling what will
happen to the girl. It was to do what I could for her that I escaped
from the 'pen,' that I have been hiding and starving in that old
quarry, and that I wrote that letter and got you here. Good heavens,
boys, do you think I'd have taken all these chances unless there was
the biggest kind of a demand on me?"
Brady was terribly in earnest, but he was so shifty and full of tricks
that Matt could not have any confidence in him.
"Your change of heart is too sudden to be sincere," said he. "You've
played fast and loose with me ever since I first met you, Brady."
"I know that what I have done is against me," went on Brady, with
an odd, pleading note in his voice, "but just now I have hazarded
everything on a single throw, and if you refuse to trust me you'll
regret it--on Helen's account. I tell you she's in danger. Of course
you can load me into the Hawk and take me back to South Chicago, but
when the worst happens to the girl you're going to be sorry."
Matt pondered the subject for a few moments. There was nothing he
wouldn't have done for Helen Brady, but her reprobate father was not
the one to show him his duty in that direction.
"Where are Pete and Whipple?" he asked.
"They're hiding in La Grange, but they don't know anything about
where I am. It's those black-hearted scoundrels who are making all the
trouble for Helen." The old fierceness crept into Brady's voice. "I'll
get even with the whelps if I hang for it!" he cried. "They can't turn
against me without footing the bill! They ought to be in the 'pen' and
I'll land them there before I go back myself. We can do this, King, and
we can save the girl--if you will only help me. Don't take me back to
South Chicago until we have captured Pete and Whipple and saved Helen!
I know I have been tricky with you, and that you have just cause to
suspect my motives now, but I declare to you solemnly that all I ask
is a chance to get even with Pete and Whipple and to take Helen out of
their hands."
"Miss Brady was spirited away by Pete and Whipple?" asked Matt, his
nerves quivering at the very thought.
"Yes, and they're keeping her a prisoner now. If you----"
Just here Carl came running out from the shadow of the trees.
"Dere vas two fellers coming dis vay from der canal," he cried
excitedly, "und dey vas coming on der run. Ve haf got to do somet'ing
un do it kevick!"
"It's a trap, after all!" exclaimed Matt. "Ferral, you and Carl pick up
Brady and hustle him over to the car. Get ready to cast off and make a
swift start from here. Look alive, now, or we'll be head over heels in
the trouble Harris was afraid would come our way."
As Matt spoke, he ran toward the trees and the air ship, intending to
cast off the mooring ropes himself. His foot struck against something,
which he found to be a piece of a dead branch from one of the trees. He
possessed himself of the club, with the intention of using it if he was
interfered with in his work.
Carl and Ferral realized the necessity of quick action. Grabbing up
Brady by the feet and shoulders, they hustled him toward the Hawk. When
they dumped him into the car, Matt had already cast off one rope and
was working frantically with the other.
"Here's the Hawk, by thunder!" bellowed an exulting voice from the
gloom. "What do you think of this for luck? We got ter capture the air
ship, Pete! It won't do to let such a chance get away from us."
The hoarse voice came closer and closer, and Matt heard a scramble of
running feet.
"Dere dey are!" cried Carl. "It vas Pete und Vipple! Vat a luck, und--"
There came the impact of a blow. Among the shadows under the trees Matt
saw Carl, who had been standing by the rail of the car, suddenly hurled
backward. He had been struck down by one of the two scoundrels--Pete or
Whipple--it was impossible to tell which.
"Pipe to quarters!" came the voice of Ferral as he leaped to Carl's
assistance. "All hands repel boarders! Look out for yourself, Matt!"
Just then Matt had his own hands full and could not pay any more
attention to what was going on by the car.
One of the two ruffians, seeing him in the gloom, leaped in his
direction. There was a bluish flash, followed by a sudden report. Matt
dropped backward.
"I've got King, Pete!" jubilated the voice of Whipple. "We'll have
everythin' our own way, now! Don't let them others git the best o' ye
afore I git there."
Whipple, however, was mistaken. He had not "got" Matt. His bullet had
sped wide, and Matt had merely tumbled backward to pick up the club
which he had dropped while working at the rope.
As Whipple continued to rush forward, the young motorist sprang up,
whirled the bludgeon, and let it drop on the scoundrel's head with all
his strength.
Whipple gave a howl of pain, threw up his hands, and staggered back.
Matt pressed the robber hard, and another blow felled him where he
stood. Whirling away, Matt rushed back to help his two chums.
Carl had not yet recovered himself sufficiently to be of any use, and
Ferral was having a little more than he could manage.
"Take him from behind, Whipple!" panted Pete, thinking Matt was his
confederate.
The next moment Pete saw his mistake.
Rightly surmising that something had happened to his pal, and not
caring to run the risk of being captured, Pete whirled and took to his
heels.
"Keelhaul me, mate," cried Ferral, "but that was a tight squeak.
Where's the other swab?"
"I was lucky enough to bowl him over, and----"
"My heart was in my throat when I heard that shot! I thought sure you
had got your gruel."
"Never mind that, now. Get into the car and turn over the engine. I'll
finish casting off that other rope and we'll get out of here. There's
more of the gang at large and they may be skulking around in this
vicinity. Hurry up, Dick!"
Matt rushed back to where he had had his encounter with Whipple. The
scoundrel had vanished, having probably recovered his wits, and made
off after Pete. This made the situation more critical for Matt and his
friends. The two scoundrels were armed, and it would be only a matter
of a few minutes before they rejoined each other and renewed the attack.
Working swiftly, Matt released the rope from the tree, threw it into
the car, and bounded after it. Everything was ready, and all he had to
do was to jump into the car, switch the power into the propeller, and
lift the steering rudder.
In another moment, the Hawk had glided upward and away into the night.