CONCLUSION.
If there was ever a happy man, Townsend was the one. So far from
grieving him, the loss of the diamonds appeared to have done him a
world of good.
"Py shinks," cried Carl, "dot vas der piggest surbrise vat efer anypody
heardt aboudt! Der Man from Cape Town vas a t'ief, schust like Jurgens,
und ve haf peen fighding, und vorrying, und making some fools oof
ourselufs over a lod of shtolen tiamonts. Und now, ven ve lose our
air ship in gedding dem pack, in valks a English feller und takes der
tiamonts avay. He geds eferyt'ing und ve ged nodding--but bromises."
"Promises are pretty good things, sometimes," said Townsend, "when they
are made by the right sort of fellow. But you and your friends will not
be anything out, Motor Matt. This Shirley means to do what is right,
and you will be well repaid for the loss of the _Hawk_ and for your
time and trouble."
"The loss of the _Hawk_ is the worst of it," mourned Dick. "That
strikes me harder than anything else."
"She was a wonderful air ship," said Townsend, "and I don't blame you
for feeling cut up over her loss. But Motor Matt can build another."
"I think I will leave the air-ship business for a while," said Matt,
"and get into something else. I suppose," he went on, shifting the
subject, "that the English detective will see that Jurgens gets the
full extent of the law?"
"There's no doubt," averred Townsend, "but that Jurgens will pay dearly
for his last attempt to get away with those fated diamonds."
"And if Whistler and Bangs are captured, they'll share the same fate.
Officers are looking for them now."
"I don't think the officers will catch them, Matt," said Townsend.
"The trail is hot and Whistler and Bangs will have to travel on foot."
"Even at that, Whistler knows that part of the country too well.
Jurgens, I am sure, is the only member of the gang who will ever be
brought to book. But I am satisfied. He is the most culpable, and
Whistler and Bangs were only tools."
"What do you think about the way I let Dashington go, Mr. Townsend?"
asked Matt, anxiously.
"Whatever you do, my lad, is all right so far as I am concerned. On the
face of it, it would look as though you had done wrong; but you were
placed in a position where you could learn what Dashington really was.
If, armed with that knowledge, you thought it right to set him free, I
don't see why any one should find fault with your judgment."
Matt was glad to have this approval. He felt in his own heart he had
done right, but he wanted to know how others felt about it.
"You'd better take a little rest now, cap'n," said Cassidy. "You've
been under a good deal of a strain to-night, and the doctor said
you----"
"The strain, as you call it, Cassidy," interrupted Townsend, with a
laugh, "has done me good. Don't go, Matt," he added, seeing that Matt
and his friends were reaching for their hats, "I'm not quite through
with you yet."
"I'll drop in and see you to-morrow," said Matt. "I guess you've talked
enough for to-night."
"I'm so pleased over getting rid of those diamonds that I feel as
though I could talk all night. You say that you think, now that the
_Hawk_ has been destroyed, you'll get into some other line of business."
"Yes; something connected with gasoline motors, of course. I couldn't
break away from the motors, you know."
"Why not go in for submarines?"
"I had thought of that, but couldn't see any place where there was an
opening."
Dick and Carl looked disturbed.
"I can offer you an opening."
"Iss dere some obenings for more as one, Misder Downsent?" inquired
Carl.
"I'm a little bit interested in that point myself," added Dick. "I
don't like to see this combination of King, Ferral & Pretzel broken up."
"It needn't be broken up," said Townsend, "for I am sure I can take
care of all three of you."
"Just what kind of an opening is it, Mr. Townsend?" asked Matt.
"I will tell you about that later. You remember, I think, that I asked
you to come to New Orleans to help me in some work that had nothing to
do with the iron chest or the treasure of the Man from Cape Town?"
"I remember that, yes, sir," said Matt.
"We haven't got down to that business yet, and, as I told Carl, some
time ago, it's thrilling, exciting and a bit dangerous."
"Und, as I toldt you, Misder Downsent," put in Carl, "dot's der fery
t'ing vat ve like. Life vouldt be some treary blaces mitoudt oxcidement
to lifen t'ings oop."
"Before we had a chance to get at this other work of mine," continued
Townsend, "something connected with that iron chest would bob up and
the other business had to be sidetracked. Now, however, I think we can
get at it without anything to interfere. But the matter will have to
hold over until I am better than I am now. Perhaps it will be a week
before I will be able to discuss the affair with you. Meanwhile, may
I ask you to remain in New Orleans, at my expense, for that length of
time?"
"Certainly, Mr. Townsend, if it will oblige you we will stay here for a
week," answered Matt.
"I'm obliged to you--to all of you. Now, I know, you're fagged out and
in need of rest, so I won't keep you any longer. I suppose you will
take that automobile to the police department and leave it with them to
be turned over to the firm to whom it belongs?"
"We'll do that," said Matt, "before we go to our hotel."
"It would be wise, I think, to get it off your mind as soon as
possible. And I have your promise to stay in town for a week?"
"Yes."
"Then I know you'll stay, for"--and here Townsend gave a confident
smile--"I know that Motor Matt's word is as good as his bond."
He shook hands with the motor boys, and they went out of the house, got
into the automobile and headed the machine back toward town.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (15) WILL CONTAIN
MOTOR MATT'S SUBMARINE;
OR,
The Strange Cruise of the _Grampus_.
A Startling Report--Mixed Messages--Hurry-up Orders--Accident or
Design--Sixty Shows His Hand--An Unexpected Rescue--A Fruitless
Search--The Overturned Boat--Adrift in the Storm--The Derelict--The
Schooner--A Stunning Surprise--Closing In--The "Grampus" Gets a
Clue--An Ultimatum--"Off with the Old, and On with the New."
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
NEW YORK, May 29, 1909.
TERMS TO MOTOR STORIES MAIL SUBSCRIBERS.
(_Postage Free._)
Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each.
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THE MASKED LIGHT.
CONCLUSION.
It was the enemy! we were completely trapped. The tables were turned
upon us; yet, even as the fight was lost, we won it. Shots crossed and
recrossed about me. One flash on my left showed me a man's face and
the glitter of a bayonet as he thrust at me. I struck it on one side
with the muzzle of my gun, firing point-blank into him as I parried it.
As he dropped back another leaped up, stamping on him to gain me. He
fired from the hip, and the powder singed my hair. I clubbed my musket
and struck down at him, slipped on the bowlder, and down we crashed,
clenched together, he, underneath, falling on his head twelve feet
below. His arms relaxed and I rolled clear. By sheer instinct alone I
kept flat, for men were now leaping down, while the shrill whistle of a
leaden hailstorm passed over me.
For a moment I thought it was the end of us all; but out of the din I
recognized a voice on our right calling shrilly: Chloe's voice. Our
friends were reënforcing us from the ford. The attackers, caught on the
flank, broke and fled. I rose up at last. The foot of the lighthouse
just loomed faintly visible, and I saw the last of the enemy rush over
the dark heap and gain the shelter of the building.
That dark heap was now linked to our position by a chain of dead and
wounded men; their retreat had cost them more than the attack.
We had not escaped scatheless. Seven men killed outright, and nine
wounded. Before we had time to move a single man to a more comfortable
position, we were driven to the shelter of our rocks by a withering
fire which broke out from every window and loophole of the chapel.
We clung to the lee of the rocks. The air was dusty with chips and
splinters of stone.
As I at last recovered my wits, I found that some one else was
sheltering under the same rock. It was Chloe, all breathless,
disheveled, and wringing wet.
"Take mine, capitan," she cried, on seeing me without a rifle. And she
passed me a handful of cartridges from the bosom of her dress. I loaded
in haste, but Henrico began to roar above the din that not a shot was
to be fired. It was growing lighter every moment, and as yet the enemy
could only aim by the line of the dead and wounded. But, for all that,
the bombardment went on unceasingly.
Chloe, her breath recovered, was, despite her crouching position,
tidying herself to something more woman-like. I asked her for the news.
"Oh," she cried, "they found us, tumbled on us, but they paid!--one,
two, three, four, five!" checking them off on her fingers. "Then we
heard you. The sergeant knew you had been surprised--by the sound he
knew. So, back came ten of us. He was just dying."
"Ah," I said.
"Yes," continued she, braiding her hair. "We all die; but I put my
crucifix round his neck. He said we were to come to you. So we left
him."
Suddenly she paused and listened eagerly, as if to catch some other
sound in the rattle of the firing.
"Listen also, capitan," she said, and pulled me close to her side where
we could get a sight of the sea between two huge rocks. Faintly, we
heard the unmistakable moan of a steamship's siren. It was the troop
ship! she was calling like some blind, lost thing for guidance.
It was now between light and dark, yet to a ship in the open a shore
light would show boldly out at sea. The same thought moved both
Chloe and myself. She rose to her feet to peer over the shelter, but
something moved in me hotly, and I pulled her down on the instant and
looked over myself.
Every window of the lighthouse vomited smoke and flashes. Above, the
lantern still cast level rays on the screen. But no sooner had my eye
fallen on the latter, than I cried out in dismay. A man was crawling
hand over hand on the wire and cutting down the sheet. Already a third
was hanging loose, and a section of light streamed seaward.
Involuntarily I called out to Chloe and pointed out the sight. Quick
as light she whipped up the rifle, but, as she pulled the trigger, I
knocked up the muzzle. And I could have done no other thing even if it
had lost all. It was a magnificent thing to see a man do; he was a dead
man as soon as sighted, so near he hung to us. Chloe slipped in another
cartridge. In a second we were struggling for possession of the weapon.
At the first grip I cleverly thrust her back on the rock with the
barrel across her chest; only for a moment, for, with a swift, sinuous
movement, she flung me sideways, and down we went, I underneath. She
hissed like a wild cat, her short upper lip held clear of her white
teeth, and her eyes a depth of black and fire. I believe in her mad
rage she would have worsted me, but, as we grappled, the walls of the
creek fairly shivered under the boom of a startling concussion. A heavy
gun had been fired to seaward. The war ship had caught the trooper!
Another and another explosion followed, and, at the sound, the rifle
fire dropped. A shout of triumph rang in the rocks and about us.
We dropped the gun and peered over our rock, and saw a white flag
limply hanging from the lighthouse. The man on the wire was crawling
painfully back to the other side. I could not help but start up and
give him a cheer with the whole of my breath.
Chloe looked in my face, her black eyes big with wonder, a child again.
"That's because he is as brave a man as ever carried a gun," said I.
"Do the Americans always cheer an enemy?" asked she.
"If he's brave."
With that she leaped on to the rock, and, throwing back her head, sent
a shrill "huzza!" to the distant man, who had now gained the firm
ground. He turned and saw us, waved his hand and fled.
All our men were streaming after Henrico toward the lighthouse, where
the enemy sullenly filed out and flung down their rifles. Seventeen I
counted, all that remained of the strong command.
Presently the doctors arrived from the cruiser, and began their
grim trade on a flat rock. But the most evil sight was to see the
lighthouse, forgotten by all, unblinkingly staring into the face of the
now open day.
But the night's work had not been wasted by us, for by sunset we were
honored guests on the cruiser, with a passage home before us.
Chloe had brought off in her uncle's boat the odds and ends from our
lodgings. The anchor cable was rattling on the deck, and at that we
shook hands with her, and said good-by. She stood and looked at us,
and we noticed she had put on her gala dress. Still she remained, till
Gilbert suddenly cried: "Goodness, we've forgotten. But we'll send you
our debt as soon as we get home to New York--never you fear, Chloe."
"No! never," she cried, "not that; no money owing." She turned, her red
lips open and eyes brimming; she stooped, kissed Gilbert in her arms!
swung round, kissed me full and fair, and was gone with a flutter of
skirt and clicking of shoe heels on the brass ledges of the stair.
The last we saw of San José was a lonely boat and a woman waving and
waving till she faded in the dusk and distance.
THE END.
SPANISH CEDAR LOGS.
In the early days of cigar box manufacture in California, they were
made almost exclusively of Spanish cedar. But that wood has become very
scarce and high priced of late years, and other woods are taking its
place to a certain extent.
And one of those woods is California redwood. In California at present
the cigar box makers use about one-fourth redwood; the balance is
composed of Spanish cedar and what is known to the trade as "imitation"
lumber, which is nothing more than the common poplar and basswood of
New England, sawed up, planed, and then stained in imitation of Spanish
cedar, or veneered with Spanish cedar, because Spanish cedar is par
excellence the real stuff for cigar boxes.
The gilt edge cigars all have to be packed in Spanish cedar, else there
is a kick from the opulent and fastidious smoker, who claims that the
natural aroma of the wood imparts an improved flavor to the cigars.
This may be a superstition, but as the well-to-do lovers of the weed
are perfectly willing to pay for it the trade are only too anxious to
flatter their customers' tastes.
It is a luxury and one that is growing more and more expensive; for in
the early days of cigar box making Spanish cedar could be bought at $55
a thousand feet; now it costs $95 a thousand feet.
Now some one asks where and how is Spanish cedar obtained? Right here
on the Pacific coast; but not in California, however, replete as her
resources are. You have to go away south along the Mexican and Central
American coasts for this special kind of lumber. And California has
driven a trade in Spanish cedar ever since cigar box making had its
inception on the Pacific coast; in fact, there is hardly a product
of any part of the known world that does not come to the port by the
Golden Gate.
The ever restless coasting schooners are the craft that bring our
Spanish cedar logs up out of the tropics, and it is a peculiar
trade--not only the maritime part of the traffic, but that part which
is performed on land; for that part is done along the primitive ways of
the easy going Mexican and Central American.
It is to be presumed that away back in the early days of maritime
traffic on the lower coast there were supplies of Spanish cedar logs
that could be obtained at the regular ports of entry; but evidently
such a supply, if it ever existed, finally became exhausted, and as
nobody down in those regions had the enterprise to build railroads from
their seaports into the lumber regions of the interior, the stock of
cedar had to be picked up all along the coast, wherever the wood could
be found. That made the transfer of the logs from the shore to the
vessel's side a very laborious undertaking and one no white man would
ever have thought of resorting to.
But first in order comes the cutting of the cedar timber and the
transportation of the logs to the shore. This, too, was done by the
simple-minded Mexicans and Central Americans. Of course, at first these
people cut the timber nearest the seashore, and then kept working back
into the country, a process that involved more and more labor, because
the distance of transportation was all the time increasing.
The cedar trees were chopped down and then cut up into logs varying in
length from six to twelve feet, according to the size of the trees.
These logs were then hewn square, ranging in size from nine inches to
two feet.
This was done in order that they might be packed closely when on board
of the California schooners. Then along came a swarthy Castilian, a
pair of oxen attached to one of those funny wooden two-wheeled carts,
with axle bare.
Upon this cart, called a carita, were loaded a number of logs, the
number, of course, depending upon the size, and were lashed on, with
one end dragging upon the ground behind. In this way the logs were
hauled to the sea coast and deposited just above high tide line. After
a while Spanish cedar began to grow scarce along the ocean belt, and
then the Mexicans went up the rivers and creeks and cut cedar timber
along the banks. The logs were rolled into the streams and driven down
to the sea, either loose or in rafts, and were loaded thence upon the
California schooners.
Now, there was a certain season when the loading of cedar logs down
along the southern coast upon the schooners from the north was
practicable, and that was in what California calls the winter season,
when in southern waters the weather is the calmest of any season during
the year. For there were no deep water harbors or extensive ocean
piers whereat to find dockage for the schooners, and the loading had
to be done offshore at any point where there might be a quantity of
logs awaiting shipment. So the California sailing masters used to go
cruising down the southern coast, keeping a sharp lookout for signals
from ashore indicating the presence of a cargo. At a given signal
they would tack to larboard and pull in as close to the beach as the
soundings would permit. Sometimes they would have to anchor as much as
two miles offshore.
When all was ready for loading two of the Mexicans on shore would seize
a log, watch for the next incoming comber, and just as it was about to
break on the beach they would start, rush through it with their log in
hand, and would then find themselves in comparatively smooth water.
As soon as deep water was reached the two men would start to paddle the
log out to the waiting vessel. There was a man on each side of the log,
and each man had one arm flung over the log, while the other was left
free to do the paddling. Arriving at the vessel's side the log would be
caught by the crew of the craft and pulled on board. The two swimmers
would then turn about and swim back to the shore for another log. By
this slow and laborious process the vessel was finally loaded, the logs
paid for, and the prow turned northward.
For this kind of labor the Mexicans were paid $1 a day each in Mexican
money, worth only about fifty cents in United States currency. But the
Mexicans appeared to be quite well satisfied with their wages, and
could save something out of their pay for a rainy day; because living
was cheap in that kindly climate--a bunch of bananas and some cakes
sufficing for food, with mescal to drink, and anyone could sleep out of
doors under a palm tree with perfect comfort.
The traffic in Spanish cedar logs has fallen off a good deal of late
years in consequence of their growing scarcity, and California cigar
box makers have been obliged to send to eastern seaports for a part of
their supply, the lumber finding its way into those ports from Cuba and
Gulf of Mexico ports.
COOKING THE VENISON STEAK.
There are various ways of cooking venison steak, but the recipe given
by Game Warden Walter Neal is still pronounced the best by Maine
woodsmen. It is that followed by Hannibal Hamlin and other famous
hunters and diners.
"Get a buck deer that is fat and not over five years of age," says
Mr. Neal. "One that weighs one hundred pounds is better than no deer,
though the best should weigh nearly two hundred pounds. Before the
body is cold, if possible, slash off some thick slices of steak. Have
them nearly two inches thick and big enough to cover the bottom of an
old-style spider if possible.
"Now get a thick and heavy cast-iron spider red-hot above the coals.
Be sure and do this, because the hotter the spider is the better. And
when the spider is glowing and sparkling with heat, slap in a slice of
steak. Do not use any butter or any form of fat, but let the raw meat
fall direct upon the hot iron, and then let it sizzle and smell and
smoke for about a minute.
"Now flop it over on the other side, and repeat until the camp is so
full of choking smoke and the smell of burning meat that you must carry
the heated spider outdoors to get your breath.
"Tip the burnt and smoking steak on to a big plate, slash it deeply all
over the surface with a sharp knife and throw on butter until the meat
is afloat. Then salt and pepper to taste, after which nobody needs any
directions as to what to do next.
"Venison cooked in this way and eaten with strong coffee and hot cream
of tartar biscuit forms the best meat that it is possible to serve to
kings and queens or jacks. And I know exactly what I am talking about."
The market men and hotel cooks of eastern Maine make a sharp
distinction between the flesh of the deer that is raised in Maine
and that which is captured by the hunters in the Southern States,
calling the home product venison and all other kinds deer meat, or if
the animals are very small and without fat, they modify the term and
scornfully call it deer veal.
The newest Bangor plan of cooking venison is to cut moderately thick
slices from the round of a buck and grill the flesh over a white-hot
fire of anthracite, letting the greedy flames lick and bathe the
curling meat and crisp its edges until it is hot clear through and
cooked on the outside, though still somewhat rare in the interior.
The person who is said to have introduced this manner of cooking from
Canada is Edward Stetson, president of the First National Bank of
Bangor, who spends much time every year in his camp back from North
Twin Dam on the west branch of Penobscot River. So particular is Mr.
Stetson concerning how the venison of his shooting must be prepared for
his guests in camp that before the beginning of open season every year
he sends up the necessary anthracite by rail, his servants carrying it
in baskets from the station far back into the wilderness, where it is
used solely for broiling venison.
The men of unclassified employment who pass from May to October in
raising hay, oats and potatoes to sell to the near-by lumber camps and
who swing axes in the deep woods from October to May declare that the
best venison is from the carcass of a buck shot in November and frozen
and hung up under cover until midwinter.
BABY OSTRICHES.
Three cunning little gray-and-white ostriches were ushered into the
world at the Florida Ostrich Farm and Zoo recently, a remarkably good
result from a setting of fifteen eggs. Everybody, from Manager Fraser
down to the most subordinate attaché of the resort, was gloriously
happy over the event.
The life, habits, and characteristics of the ostriches are really
interesting. Starting with the mating of the grown birds, which are
allowed to select their mates, the male bird prepares the nest, a
hollow in the sand, generally in a secluded spot in his pen, about one
and a half feet deep and twelve feet in circumference. The hen lays
about twelve to eighteen eggs, one every other day. The eggs are from
fifteen to eighteen inches in circumference, and, weigh about three
to four and a half pounds each, the shell being from one-sixteenth to
one-eighth of an inch thick, sufficiently strong to withstand a decided
blow. After laying her nest of eggs the birds begin setting, the hen in
the daytime and the male ostrich covering the eggs at nighttime. They
remain on the nests constantly from forty-two to forty-five days, never
leaving it, except for food twice a day. Even then the male bird covers
the nest frequently while his mate seeks her food.
The chick when ready to hatch will usually break or pip the shell
itself; but at times the hen ostrich will assist by breaking it with
her breast bone, by pressing upon it, helping the chick out by lifting
it out with her beak, and shaking the shell from its body.
The first growth of ostrich chicks is remarkably fast, as from ten days
of age up to six months old they grow at the rate of a foot a month.
After six months they grow more slowly.
At first both sexes are similar in color and appearance, and are almost
undistinguishable until about fifteen or eighteen months old. That
which has been a mixture of drab, white, and brown on the male, begins
to darken, and finally at about four years old becomes a decided black.
The feathers on the female remain drab during her entire life. Baby
ostriches do not eat for three days after hatching. The third day they
begin to stand up and take notice like a child, and after being taught
to eat by having bits of their food placed in their bills, they very
quickly discover the use of their bills, and pick up their own food.
The chicks must be carefully fed and have fine especially prepared
food, including plenty of fine grit and fresh, clean water. Their first
crop of feathers matures at eight months.
MINK FARM IN OREGON.
Tom Staten has established a farm for the raising of mink at
Rattlesnake Point, on the upper Klamath Lake. About a hundred of the
animals are housed in cages or cabinets, and seem to do well and thrive
in captivity, as they are all fat and sleek looking.
The animals are so tame that they will take food from the hand,
although one has to be careful in handling them, as the mink is
treacherous and has very sharp teeth. As mink in this county increase
about five fold Mr. Staten expects to have something over five hundred
in his cages next year. The value of their fur alone will aggregate
about $3,000, but live female minks sell for a much higher figure than
their hide alone is worth.
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635--A Strange Bargain; or, Nick Carter's Dead-shot Circus Case.
636--The Haunted Circus; or, Nick Carter Lays a Ghost.
637--The Secret of a Private Room; or, Nick Carter Makes an
Experiment.
638--A Mental Mystery; or, Nick Carter on a Difficult Trail.
639--The Sealed Envelope; or, Nick Carter's Search for a Lost Fortune.
640--The Message in Blue; or, Nick Carter's Clue to a Vast Conspiracy.
641--A Dream of Empire; or, Nick Carter and the Queen of Conspirators.
642--The Detective's Disappearance; or, Nick Carter is Saved by
Adelina.
643--The Midnight Marauders; or, Nick Carter's Telephone Mystery.
644--The Child of the Jungle; or, Nick Carter's Ingenious Ruse.
645--Nick Carter's Satanic Enemy; or, The Case of an Easy Mark.
646--Three Times Stolen; or, Nick Carter's Strange Clue.
647--The Great Diamond Syndicate; or, Nick Carter's Cleverest Foes.
_For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt
of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by_
STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
=IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS= of our Weeklies and cannot procure them
from your newsdealer, they can be obtained from this office direct.
Fill out the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price
of the Weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail.
=POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY.=
________________________ _190_
_STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City._
_Dear Sirs: Enclosed please find_ ___________________________
_cents for which send me_:
TIP TOP WEEKLY, Nos. ________________________________
NICK CARTER WEEKLY, " ________________________________
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MOTOR STORIES, " ________________________________
_Name_ ________________ _Street_ ________________
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ADVENTURES OF A BOY GENIUS
MOTOR STORIES
The boys who want to learn something from what they read, as well
as to be interested by it, will never find another publication that
will satisfy them so well as MOTOR STORIES. "Motor Matt" is not an
impossible boy character. He is simply a youth who has had considerable
training in a machine shop where motors of all kinds were repaired,
and who is possessed of a genius for mechanics. His sense of right and
wrong is strongly developed, and his endeavors to insure certain people
a square deal, lead him into a series of the most astonishing, but at
the same time the most natural adventures that ever befell a boy.
_HERE ARE THE TITLES NOW READY_:
1--Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel.
2--Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.
3--Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier.
4--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the "Comet."
5--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot.
6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear.
7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto.
8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward.
9--Motor Matt's Air Ship; or, The Rival Inventors.
10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot.
11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady.
12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Cast Away in the Bahamas.
To be Published on May 17th.
13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.
To be Published on May 24th.
14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the "Hawk."
To be Published on May 31st.
15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the "Grampus."
To be Published on June 7th.
16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.
PRICE, FIVE CENTS
At all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt
of the price.
STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
Transcriber's Notes:
Italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=.
Page 6, changed "you're" to "your" in "he's your double."
Page 7, added missing end quote to "And bring the receipt to me here,
to-morrow."
Page 11, added missing comma before "you can gount on me."
Page 12, changed "everwhelming interest" to "overwhelming interest."
Page 13, expanded oe ligature to oe in "manoeuvring" for this text
edition; the ligature is retained in the HTML version.
Page 16, corrected "reconnoit-tring" to "reconnoitring." Added missing
quote before "It might have been some superstitious...."
Page 19, changed "anway" to "anyway" ("What do you think of yourself,
anyway?").
End of Project Gutenberg's Motor Matt's Promise, by Stanley R. Matthews