THE UNEXPECTED.
Ferral staggered to his feet.
"It's a regular monkey's fist to me," said he, "how we ever got out of
that mess. The last I remember I was slamming into the branches of a
tree, then something hit me and the sunshine was turned off. It can't
be, mates, that I dropped clear through that tree and hit the ground?
I'm tough, but I think I'd show more marks than I do if that had
happened."
Matt explained how Dick had been got down out of the wreck of the
_Hawk_.
"You lads must have had a rummy old time of it, hauling me around that
tree top," went on Dick. "And so the good old _Hawk_ is done for! She
carried us many a mile, mates, and we'll never see her like again
unless----" He paused.
"Unless what?" queried Matt.
"Why, unless we can get her out of the tree and patch her up."
"Impossible, Dick. That would cost more than it would to build a new
air ship. If we thought it worth while to do that, I have some new
ideas I'd like to incorporate into the machine."
Dick's heaviness vanished a little.
"We've money enough in the bank, Matt," said he, "and if you say the
word, we'll----"
"We'd better get out of the trouble this air ship has got us into,
Dick," interrupted Matt, "before we think of building another."
"That's so. We look like a lot of ragamuffins. I'd like to clap eyes on
that loafing longshore scuttler that brought us down! Can you make a
guess as to who it was?"
"It might have been some superstitious negro hunter; or, as Carl
suggested, Jurgens or one of his gang. If it was any of the latter, we
have probably fallen into a snare. But if it was one of the robbers,
why don't he show himself?"
"That may not be his game. What's our next move, Matt? We can't stand
here boxing the compass when there's dirty weather ahead."
"I'm expecting the writer of that letter to put in an appearance. From
what he wrote, I thought he would be here ahead of us."
"I tell you somet'ing!" exploded Carl. "He vas der feller mit der gun.
He got us here und he bagged us, und now he don'd vant to come oudt
vere ve can ged a look at him. I vould like to knock his plock off,
yah, so helup me!"
"We might make a move in the direction of Yamousa's cabin," said Matt.
"That would be a more comfortable place to wait than out here in the
open."
"Don'd you nefer t'ink dot!" chattered Carl. "Der blace iss pad
meticine. I bed you der olt foodoo's shpook haunts der capin."
"Avast, there, you flying Dutchman!" reproved Dick. "We don't believe
in spooks. If you're afraid to go with us, Carl, you can heave to and
drop your anchor right here."
"I go verefer you go, und dry und be as jeerful as bossiple, only I
don'd like going to der shpook laty's house."
Matt and Dick set out around the edge of the bayou and were presently
upon familiar ground. Dick indicated the spot where the _Hawk_ had been
moored, upon the occasion of their first visit to the place, and it was
there that Matt called a halt while they made a survey of the hovel
where the Obeah woman had lived.
It had been decorated with bones of various kinds, when the chums
saw the place first, but now the bones had disappeared. The door was
closed, but there was a bucket standing beside the doorstep.
"From the looks," said Matt, "I should say that there is some one in
the hut."
"Den dose peoble must haf been pad off for some blace to go," spoke up
Carl.
"Mayhap the Jurgens outfit are in there?" said Dick.
"Just what I was thinking," continued Matt.
"Den ve'd pedder look a leedle oudt or ve vill be gedding indo some hod
vater."
"You and Carl slip into the edge of the timber, Dick," said Matt, "and
I'll go on ahead and do some reconnoitring. If the gang is there I'll
find it out, and then I'll come back and we'll decide what it is best
for us to do."
"You're cutting out all the rough work for yourself," demurred Dick.
"I'm the one best able to stand it," was the answer. "You're far from
being yourself, old chap, and Carl is too much afraid of spooks to
accomplish anything."
"I do feel a bit groggy on my feet, and that's a fact," admitted
Ferral, staggering to the edge of the brush and dropping wearily down.
"That nick on the head took the starch all out of me, but I'll feel
better after a while. Go ahead, Matt, but don't stir up any trouble.
We're not in shape to stand off that gang of pirates."
"I don't intend to let the scoundrels see me," Matt answered as he
moved away.
Keeping to the edge of the timber, he was able to reach a point abreast
of the hut without showing himself. From the place where he came to a
halt he could look across a narrow stretch of clear ground and see a
window in the rear wall of the hovel.
A look through the window would tell him all he wanted to know, and
he dropped down on hands and knees and began crawling across the open
space.
He appreciated to the full Dick's suggestion as to not stirring up
trouble. Jurgens, according to Matt's surmise, probably had two men
with him and the young fellow who had played the part of Matt in making
the diamond haul. This made four against Matt and his two comrades--an
overwhelming force, when it is remembered that undoubtedly the thieves
were armed.
Matt gained the place under the window without making a noise; then,
raising cautiously, he pressed his face to the glass.
To his disappointment, a piece of cloth had been placed over the window
on the inside. A broken pane in the window, however, enabled him to
listen for sounds which would let him know whether or not there was
really any one in the hut.
There were no voices and no sound of any stir, but Matt's keen ear
detected the slow, regular breathing of some one asleep. And there was
only one sleeper--he was positive of that.
For a few moments he debated the question. Should he step boldly into
the hut and find out who the person was, or would it be better to go
back after Carl and Dick so as to have a superior force in case of a
clash?
Matt decided that the move was for him to make. Going back into the
edge of the timber, he cut himself a stout bludgeon; thus armed, he
stepped quietly around to the front of the hut and laid a hand on the
door.
It was locked.
A little examination assured him that the bolt was not strong enough to
resist a determined onslaught, and he boldly hurled himself against the
door.
It went crashing inward, and Matt pitched forward across the floor and
almost lost his footing.
A shout of consternation went up, and Matt saw a form spring erect and
stand facing him.
It was the form of a youth about Matt's own age, wearing a dingy
sweater and frayed corduroy trousers. At the first glance each
recognized the other.
"King, or I'm a Reub!"
"Great spark plugs! The fellow that played that dodge on Townsend!"
Matt cleared the distance separating him from the youth at a leap; but
the other had jumped backward, at the same time pulling a weapon from
his pocket.
"Don't you go and make a sucker play, Motor Matt!" cried Dashington
warningly.
"Put up that revolver!" ordered Matt, staring sternly at the youth and
taking a fresh grip on the handle of the club.
"You've got a picture of me making a funny play like that--I don't
think. Throw away your club and I'll throw away this pepper box. Gee,
but wouldn't it uppercut you, the way we resemble each other? Say, you
ought to be delighted to see me instead of trying to make a pass at my
block with that stick. I wasn't looking for you to drop in on me so
soon."
"I doubt if you were expecting me to drop in on you at all," said Matt
sarcastically. "Where are Jurgens, and Whistler, and Bangs?"
"Close by, cull. Don't make too much noise or they'll get next to you
and me and blow in on us."
"Where are those diamonds?" asked Matt.
"Hand me an easy one."
"You ought to know. You're the one that stole them, and you stole them
for Jurgens and his pals."
"Part of that's on the level. I did lift the bag of sparks, and it
really seems as though I went to all that trouble for Jurgens and his
pals. Anyhow, I didn't help myself so you could see it. Don't get to
hearing funny noises under your bonnet, now, but drop the club and
let's be sociable. If you---- Wow, but you're chain lightning, and then
some!"
Quick as a flash Matt had thrown the club. It struck the revolver in
Dashington's hand and knocked it clear to the opposite side of the room.
Before Dashington could recover it, Matt was upon him and there was
a short wrestling match, catch-as-catch-can. Being far and away
Dashington's superior in science, Matt was only about two minutes in
laying his antagonist on his back. When they fell, they knocked over
a table, and the racket it made brought a stifled cry to Dashington's
lips.
"They'll get wise to us! You're queering yourself, King. Let me up,
quick! I can hear some one coming."
"You're my prisoner!" said Matt sharply.
"We'll both be prisoners of Jurgens and his gang if you don't take a
tumble to the rights of this. Let me up, I tell you, or----"
Just then the hurrying steps outside reached the door.
"What's going on here, Matt?" came the excited voice of Dick Ferral, as
he and Carl flung into the room.
"I've just captured that double of mine," answered Matt. "If we hang
onto him possibly we can make him tell us something about Jurgens and
the diamonds."
"Oh, sister!" mumbled Dashington, "wouldn't that give your thinker a
twist? Pass it up, King. If you won't take your knees off my chest,
then give me a chance to heave a little of the straight guff at you."
"Pick up that revolver, Dick," said Matt, nodding toward the weapon.
"Keep it in your hands and don't let this fellow lose your eyes for a
moment. He wants to talk, and we're going to let him, but if he tries
to bolt, he's going to wish that he had thought twice before he tried
it."
Dick hurried to the weapon and gathered it in, then Matt got up and let
Dashington regain his feet.