Joe McGlory was kneeling beside the road, tying a handkerchief bandage
around the forehead of Levitt. The latter was sprawled out limply on
the ground, his clothing torn and disarranged.
“What’s the matter, Joe?” asked Matt.
The cowboy’s face was pale, and the set lines of it indicated that he
was himself in pain.
“That’s you, is it, pard?” he asked huskily.
For a useless question McGlory threw a good deal of feeling into it.
“Yes.”
“I might have known you’d come pounding along if I was in trouble.
Levitt is badly hurt. He’s been unconscious ever since he dropped in
the road. I can’t bring him back to his senses--but I haven’t been able
to do much, being about half knocked out.”
Matt went down on his knees, laid a hand over Levitt’s heart, and then
felt of his pulse.
“He’ll do, I think, Joe. Is he hurt anywhere else except in the head?”
“I don’t think so. He was thrown headfirst against the tree there.”
Matt lifted the bandage and surveyed the wound. The light was none too
good, and he asked his chum to strike a match.
“It may be a fracture of the skull,” said Matt, replacing the bandage.
“We’ve got to get him into the hands of a doctor.”
“Hempstead’s the nearest place, I reckon. It can’t be more than a mile
from here.”
“We’ll go there.”
Riding on two seats, with an unconscious and wounded man to look after,
was not going to be child’s play for Matt and McGlory--particularly as
the cowboy was not in very good condition himself. Then, too, cramped
as he was going to be, Matt would have to look after the runabout. That
might be an easy matter, and it might not. It all depended on how the
runabout was going to act.
“Can you help me get him into the car, Joe?” asked Matt.
“I’m not good for much, Matt,” was the response; “but I’ll do what I
can.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Just shaken up, I reckon. I’ve had a good many falls, but never one
like that before.”
Matt, when Levitt was lifted, contrived to carry most of the burden.
McGlory groaned when the limp form of Levitt was in the car, and
grabbed at the car seat to support himself.
“Something has happened to you, old chap, besides a mere shaking up,”
averred Matt. “I guess I’ll have to leave you at Hempstead with Levitt.”
“Nary, you don’t. I’ve got to get to that meeting.”
Matt made no answer to this. It brought up a subject which he was not
yet ready to discuss.
“Get into the car, Joe,” said he. “Hold Levitt’s head up between your
knees, if you can. I won’t be able to help support him--the car will
take all my attention.”
“If this infernal contraption goes off the jump again,” scowled
McGlory, “it’s liable to do for all of us.”
In a few moments they were loaded. The cowboy, braced in the seat,
supported the upper half of Levitt’s body between his knees. This left
Matt elbow room for running the car.
The runabout started off cleverly enough, and Matt believed it would
act well for the short trip to Hempstead.
“How did the accident happen, Joe?” he asked, when they were well away.
“I wish somebody would tell me,” answered McGlory. “We were going along
at not more than twenty-five miles an hour when, without any warning,
it buck-jumped, and stopped dead. Levitt was thrown out sideways
against the tree. I missed the trees, but took the roadside on my head
and shoulders, as near as I can recollect. I was dazed for a couple
of minutes, and when I rounded up my wits I saw Levitt unconscious, a
dozen feet from where I was lying. That’s all. I was trying to tinker
him up when you came along. Where did you pick up the car?”
“A little way back on the road. It was on the reverse, and moving
slowly.”
“How did it get on the reverse?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nor I. Sufferin’ brain twisters! The same thing happened on the
Jericho Pike this morning, you remember.”
Matt was silent. Before either he or the cowboy could speak Levitt
began to talk.
“Play the game, Billings! If you’re going to hocus the syndicate,
you’ve got to pay me money enough to make it worth while. A quarter of
the proceeds, Billings, or I give Random & Griggs my private report.
That will cook your goose.”
McGlory gasped.
“He’s delirious,” said Matt.
“He--he thinks he’s talking with Billings,” said McGlory. “Speak to me
about that!”
“It’s just as I told you, Joe,” went on Matt quietly. “Your colonel is
out to make a big winning, and to make it dishonestly. If he----”
Levitt began again.
“You didn’t know I had that private report, did you?” A weird laugh
came with the words. “I’m a bit foxy myself, colonel. The ‘Pauper’s
Dream’ isn’t worth what it cost to put down the shaft. You haven’t any
vein. There was a pocket, but the pocket has been worked out. You’ve
got to come across with a pile if you make me suppress that private
report.”
“I’m the biggest blockhead that walks the face o’ the earth!” declared
McGlory. “I----”
Levitt interrupted him.
“Keep your eye on Matt King, Billings! If lightning hits us, that cub
will be back of it!”
There was something grewsome about that limp form with its bandaged
head, swaying between McGlory’s unsteady knees and mumbling villainous
revelations.
For a while Levitt was silent, and the runabout glided through the
outskirts of Hempstead and Matt inquired the way to the nearest doctor.
The car continued to remain on its good behavior, and carried its
passengers steadily and safely to the walk in front of the doctor’s
office. Some bystanders helped carry Levitt in, and he was laid on
a couch, very white and weak and continuing to mumble his delirious
disclosures.
“What’s the trouble with him?” inquired the doctor.
“Automobile accident,” answered Matt briefly.
“They’re always happening,” commented the medical man grimly. “Who is
he?”
“Hannibal J. Levitt. We’ll have to leave him in your care, doctor. My
friend and I have got to hurry on to New York to attend a meeting at
eight o’clock to-night.”
The doctor, busily examining Levitt, turned up a suspicious face.
“You’ll have to tell me a little bit more about this man before you
go,” said he. “He may have been hurt in an automobile accident, or he
may have been hit on the head with a sand bag.”
“Sufferin’ hold-ups!” muttered McGlory. “Do you take us for strong-arm
men?”
Just at that moment a policeman entered.
“Heard there was an injured man brought in here, doc,” said he.
The doctor explained--not only about the injured man, but about Matt’s
hurry to get away to New York.
The policeman also became suspicious. Matt, however, took him apart
and went into a somewhat lengthy explanation. He told who he was, and
managed to convince the officer of his identity. The name of Matt King
was not unknown to the bluecoat, and he was prepared to take all that
Matt said in good faith.
“It’s all right, Doc,” said the officer, as soon as Matt had finished
talking; “these young fellows didn’t have anything more to do with that
man’s condition than you or I. We’ll look after Levitt. Badly hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
“Not dangerously, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then we’re free to go, are we, officer?” asked Matt.
“Sure. Skip whenever you’re ready. If I want you or your friend I’ll
phone your New York hotel.”
Matt and McGlory, followed by the troubled eyes of the doctor, went out
to the runabout. Before starting, Matt got the lamps to going.
“Now for Manhattan,” said he, climbing to his seat.
“Or the ditch,” added McGlory. “The way I feel now I don’t care much
what happens to us.”
“That’s a funny way for you to feel, Joe,” said Matt quietly.
The car moved off in fine order--an exhibition which made Matt feel
like congratulating himself.
“I’m entitled to my feelings, pard. For what I’ve done to-day you ought
to cut me out of your herd.”
“You made a mistake----”
“A big one; and there was no excuse for it.”
“Yes, there was, Joe. There must have been.”
McGlory mumbled to himself and fell silent.
“You hadn’t got far along the road from the clubhouse,” said Matt,
“when the accident happened. But you must have been gone an hour. If
your pace was twenty-five miles an hour, how----”
“The car bothered us like Sam Hill,” cut in McGlory. “If it wasn’t
one thing, it was two. Neither Levitt nor I was as good a hand at
tinkering as you, and we had to hunt quite a spell before we located
the troubles.”
“You found something wrong?”
“A dozen things!”
“That’s strange! When this runabout gets to acting up, it usually seems
to be without any cause whatever.”
“Well,” finished the cowboy, “that explains how we were going
twenty-five miles an hour, at the time the accident happened, and
didn’t get any farther from the Malvern Country Club.”
After this there was another silence between the chums. McGlory was
getting ready to explain, and Matt patiently waited.