IN ASH FORK.
Once more the Red Flier found shelter in the hotel barn, and once more
James Q. Tomlinson was quartered in the hotel. But, of course, it was a
different James Q. Tomlinson.
One of the first things Matt did, as soon as he had helped Gregory take
care of the Red Flier, was to hunt up the deputy sheriff and tell him
what had happened. If there was ever a dumfounded man in Arizona, that
man was the deputy.
"Well, thunder an' kerry one!" said he. "Ain't I the bright boy,
though? Why, I helped that Denver Denny across the street from the
doctor's office, did everythin' I could to make him comfortable,
and--oh, gadhook it all! He played me for fair, and no mistake! But I
reckon you was a bit fooled yourself, eh?"
"For a while, yes," answered Matt. "But you'd better get busy. Denver
Denny is out there on the mountain, and Hank and Spangler are back
on the west road with a stolen car. If you hustle you may be able to
capture the whole gang--or three of them, anyhow."
"That's me, on the jump."
Ten minutes later the deputy sheriff had collected a posse, and had
split the force into two detachments. One party went toward the place
where the stolen car had been left, and the other headed along the
Flagstaff trail.
As a matter of fact, which may as well be stated in this place, neither
detachment accomplished anything.
The owner of the runabout, Lem Nugent, arrived in town on foot, late
that afternoon, full of wrath, footsore, and weary.
"Hang the blooming luck, anyhow!" said he, to a group of loungers in
front of the hotel. "Got held up for my new car--two fellows snaked
it right out from under me. There was a tree across the trail, and
of course we had to stop. Next I knew a revolver was looking at me
from both sides. I had to get out, and the two hold-up boys went away
in the runabout, taking Henry along to run the car for them. As for
me--whoosh! I walked into town. Never liked walking much, anyhow. And
where's my new runabout? That's what I want to know. Henry's with it,
wherever it is."
But Lem Nugent was mistaken. Henry wasn't with the car, at that moment,
but was hoofing it into Ash Fork from the hills, glad to have his scalp
with him.
He reported to his employer an hour after the theft of the runabout had
been described by its owner.
"They made me chase a red touring-car," said Henry, "kept a gun poked
into my ribs all the time an' said they'd blow holes in me if I didn't
do the right thing. What they thought was the right thing, and what I
thought, was some different, but guns was trumps an' they had the best
hands. First time we chased the red car the machinery of the runabout
went wrong, and the other machine got away from us. Came pretty near
getting shot, then, as the strong-arm boys thought I'd made the
runabout go wrong a-purpose.
"When we got ready to do some more scorching, the other car had given
us the slip. We kept chasing around, and finally dipped over a divide
into that east road, a couple o' miles beyond the Fork. By and by we
stopped at a place where a feller called Spangler got out and lost
himself in a swale. Hank and me jogged on to where the west road come
into the other trail, an' turned back along that course. We was to pick
up Spangler on the new road, after he'd done something or other, I
don't know what.
"Well, unexpectedlike, we sighted the red car. That was our signal to
whoop it up, takin' Spangler in behind on the fly. Then we had a race
an' no mistake. It would have been our race, too, if the young fellow
in the red car hadn't busted a bottle in the trail and spoiled a tire
for us. Say, that was the slickest move I ever saw made!
"It took us half an hour to get on a new tire, and by that time, of
course, the red car was safe in Ash Fork. Hank made me give him lessons
in handling the runabout, then told me to go home and say that he and
Spangler liked the machine so well they was going to keep it."
The cattleman swore roundly; and likewise declared that he'd spend the
price of a new car getting the old one back.
Tomlinson remained in Ash Fork for two days, recovering from his trying
experiences. And when he finally went on to Albuquerque he went by
train. As for the Red Flier, the arrangement he had made to have the
car taken on developed in a conversation he had with Matt a few minutes
before he got aboard the steam-cars.
Matt was at the station with Tomlinson and Gregory, for both were going
to Albuquerque by train.
"Here's what I owe you, Matt," said the Denver man, pressing a roll
of bills into the young motorist's hand. "A thousand dollars, and I
call it cheap, considering the great service you rendered me. The Red
Flier will have to come on to Albuquerque, but I don't care to travel
with her myself, and I want Gregory to go with me. I'll give you an
extra hundred, Matt, if you'll bring the car through. I shall be in
Albuquerque for some time, and you can jog along at your leisure. What
do you say? If you have anything else on hand, and feel that you can't
do it, don't hesitate to say so. Henry, Nugent's driver, will take the
Red Flier to Albuquerque, if you can't. But, frankly, I'd rather trust
the car in your hands."
"I'll do it," said Matt. "You see, I want to get to Denver myself, and
I'll be able to get over a long lap of the run on the trip."
"Good!" exclaimed Tomlinson, with a look of relief. "You're going to
Denver, you say?"
"That's my intention."
"What are you going to do there?"
"Something with motor-cars--I can't tell just what, at the present
time."
"You'd make a good driver for a racing-car. You've got nerve, and
steadiness, and presence of mind. How'd you like a job of that kind?"
Matt's eyes sparkled.
"That would suit me right down to the ground, Mr. Tomlinson," said he.
"Then I think I can help you. A friend of mine is a manufacturer
of automobiles, and I know he's looking for a good driver for his
racing-machines. If you say so, I'll write him from Albuquerque."
"I'd be obliged to you if you would, Mr. Tomlinson," returned Matt.
"All right, then. You can count on me to give you a good
recommendation."
Just then the train came along, Tomlinson and Gregory shook hands with
Matt and Carl, and were soon pulling out of Ash Fork.
"Vell, vell!" murmured Carl, staring after the disappearing train, "you
vas some lucky poys, Matt. Meppy I vill be lucky, too, oof I shtay
hooked oop mit you."
"Nothing would please me better, old chap," said Matt heartily, "than
to have you trail along with me."
"Und go mit you py Albuquerque, und den py Tenver?"
"Sure!"
"Hoop-a-la!" jubilated Carl, gripping Matt's hand.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (6) WILL CONTAIN
Motor Matt's Red Flier;
OR,
ON THE HIGH GEAR.
Stranded "Uncle Tommers"--The Red Flier Gets a Load--The Stolen
Runabout--The Coat in the Rumble--Matt Begins a Search--Losing
the Box--A Mysterious Disappearance--Spirited Away--An Unexpected
Meeting--A Daring Plan--On the Road--A Close Call--Car Against
Car--Down the Mountain--Motor Matt's Tenstrike--More Trouble for the
"Uncle Tommers"--Conclusion.
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
NEW YORK, March 27, 1909.
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A YOUNG MARINER'S PERIL.
By RUFUS HALL.
Day after day the poisonous malarial vapors from thickets and jungles,
combined with the heat of an equatorial clime, told even upon some of
the hardy sailors and marines who had been sent from the sloop of war
_Trenton_ to protect a party of engineers away up in the Gaboon country
of Lower Guinea, near the mountains, in Western Africa.
In a tent where the marines were encamped, they had put little Jack
Winton, the lieutenant's nephew, a boy of fourteen, ill with a fever;
and, one morning, as he lay there, with burning cheeks and parched
lips, a vision of big red cherries, smooth and round, kept rising in
fancy before his wistful eyes. His delirious mutterings were of these
cherries, and his hands now and then crossed and recrossed his pillow,
as if he thought the fruit must be there.
Then it was that Will Worth, a marine private of sixteen, hearing
him, made up his mind to hunt for what he knew the invalid coveted--a
cherrylike fruit, to be found among the glens and ravines of the
mountains--and to bring some, as a pleasant surprise, to the sufferer.
Without mentioning his purpose to any one, he left the camp, being at
present off duty, and sped on his way.
Mr. Dale, a youthful ensign, noticing how hurriedly he plunged into the
upland thicket ahead, suspected that he meant to desert. His lieutenant
had already found fault with him for one soldier's desertion, and
he did not relish the idea of another reprimand of this sort. He,
therefore, resolved to follow the lad, watch him, and, if he went far,
order him back to the camp.
Entering the thicket, he moved rapidly on. The foliage and the brush
became denser as he proceeded. He heard the tapping and humming of
bees in the hollows of trees. In and out of the great bell-shaped
flowers around him they flew, spitefully buzzing at the big green gnats
in their way. Hundreds of large white lilies, enormous tulips, and
wild roses brightened the shrubbery. High above hovered the scarlet
cardinal-bird, sounding its shrill "fife." Below, the hook-nosed
falcon boldly confronted the youth, as if inclined to dispute his
progress.
At last he caught sight of Worth down in the jungle, on the opposite
side of a deep ravine, which he had evidently reached by a roundabout
direction through brambles and vines leading past the front of the
chasm. Down where he was could be seen gleaming in profusion the small
red globes of the cherrylike fruit he had come to gather for his sick
little comrade.
The ravine was evidently hundreds of feet in depth, the bottom hidden
by the black shadows from the jungle on both sides.
A few yards below Worth the chasm, which was about eighteen feet
wide, was crossed by a tree-trunk--a mere sapling, eight inches
thick--probably all that remained of a former bridge.
The trunk was smooth, except within five feet of the end nearest the
boy, where there was a clipped branch. This end was in a sort of long
hollow, overhung by tough roots.
The ensign cautiously descended on his side of the ravine and watched
Worth until he had filled a haversack at his side with the "cherries"
and was about to ascend, when he called out sharply:
"That fruit will make you a poor meal, my boy, if you mean to desert!"
The startled lad looked across the gorge, saw the ensign, and answered,
much hurt by the officer's suspicion:
"I had no intention of deserting, sir. I came here after the fruit for
Jack Winton."
"Now, upon my word," said the ensign, who was a good fellow at heart,
"I believe you, Worth, and am sorry I made the mistake of suspecting
you. Those 'cherries' are just the things for little Jack."
Worth was going to respond, when behind and above him he fancied
he heard a low, guttural voice. Turning and looking up, he saw two
humanlike but fierce eyes shining amid a thick, dark screen of
interlacing vines.
"Who's there--a 'Pongwe?" he inquired, thinking one of the natives of
the Mpongwe tribe had been watching him pick the fruit.
There was no reply to his question. But the leafy bower rustled, and
now from out the dark screen there rose an awful roar, that was echoed
to the chasm's very depths.
From among the concealing vines stepped forth a hideous monster, which
the boy at first thought was a chimpanzee, but which, from its black
color and ferocious aspect, he concluded must be a gorilla.
Nearly erect it stood, beating its breast with its hands.
Being a greedy lover of fruit, it glared in a fierce, remonstrative way
at the lad's full haversack, as if enraged at his having come to pluck
the "cherries" it wanted entirely for its own use.
The animal, about five feet high, was covered with black hair, had very
broad shoulders and enormous hands, while its stomach bulged as if
nearly filled to bursting with the "cherries" it had been eating, the
red stain of which was all about its mouth.
The diabolical face, with its great flat nose and projecting open jaws,
the latter disclosing two enormous hooked lower teeth and a row of
smaller ones above as sharp as a saw, was thrust slightly downward,
showing the encircling edges of the hair on its head so distinctly
defined as to give it the grotesque appearance of wearing a sort of big
furry cap.
It was plain that the brute meant to attack the boy. In fact, it
suddenly raised one of its big paws and, with a rush, came crashing
toward him through the shrubbery.
Unfortunately he had left his musket, thinking it would be in his way,
near the edge of the ravine above. But his bayonet was by his side
in its sheath. He drew the steel, and, flourishing it before him,
retreated toward the tree-trunk that extended across the chasm.
He had once heard a hunter say that the gorilla, unlike the common
monkey, is not a very skilful climber. Neither would it, he thought,
attempt, for the same reason, to follow him should he creep out on the
horizontal sapling.
But just as he got close to the tree the ferocious brute, uttering a
terrible roar, aimed a blow at him with its uplifted paw.
He held up his bayonet.
It was dashed from his grasp, but not before the point had inflicted a
wound in the monster's arm. So great was the strength of this hairy arm
that that single blow must have lacerated the boy's side had not the
big paw fallen upon his cartridge-box.
The force of the stroke whirled him over upon his back, knocking him
into the hollow in which rested the end of the tree-trunk. He quickly
pushed himself under the tough roots overhanging the hollow.
The gorilla, bending over, looked at its wounded arm, lapped it,
and pressed it against its breast, all the time growling as if with
blended pain and wrath. Then, using both its left paw and its teeth,
it commenced to tear away the protecting roots above the lad, with the
probable intention of dealing him a finishing blow.
Its strength was so enormous that the earth broke and flew in all
directions as the animal shook, pulled, and bit at the roots. Worth,
knowing that these would soon give way, expected to be finally torn to
death by the infuriated beast.
Meanwhile, the young ensign on the other side of the ravine had
been watching for a chance to shoot at the gorilla with the long
double-barreled pistol he had with him, which he had drawn from his
belt.
But the boy and his assailant were, from the first, so close to each
other that he did not dare to fire, lest the bullet should strike his
comrade.
He now ran his gaze along the sapling that bridged the chasm. The
slender tree was covered with a green, slippery slime. He doubted if he
would be able to creep over it, but he saw no other way of attempting
to get within close enough range of the fierce beast to shoot it
without risk of hitting Worth. Therefore, replacing his pistol in his
belt, he started, crawling along on his hands and knees.
It was a daring venture. The horizontal tree was probably more than two
hundred feet above the bottom of the chasm. If he lost his balance,
certain death awaited him; he would be precipitated into the black
depths so far below.
On he went. As he proceeded, the narrow trunk shook with his weight.
When he had reached its center, it bent, oscillated, and one of his
knees slid off the slippery surface.
He felt himself going over. His distended eyes were turned downward
toward the dark, yawning gulf beneath, into which he expected to fall
headlong.
But the thought now occurred to him of throwing himself flat upon his
breast along the sapling and of hugging it with his arms.
He did so, and the action saved him. Cautiously he then regained his
former position and crept on. At length he reached the clipped branch,
within five feet of the end of the tree. The gorilla had nearly torn
away all the roots that protected Worth. It seemed about to raise its
left paw to deal him a fatal blow. The young officer knew he had no
time to lose.
He clutched the stumped branch with his left hand, drew his pistol,
and, aiming as well as his position would admit of, he fired. The
bullet inflicted a flesh-wound in the monster's side. With a roar that
shook the air to the chasm's very depths, the brute turned, saw its
assailant, and threw itself toward him, resting its big stomach on
the sapling. Up went its mighty left paw, and down it came slantingly
toward the officer's head.
Worth uttered a cry of dismay. He expected to see the ensign killed and
dashed from the tree's trunk into the black pit of the ravine, hundreds
of feet below.
It was a critical moment.
Had Dale drawn his head back, the great paw would still have reached
him, have struck his neck, and sent him to his doom.
But instead of attempting in his present cramped position any backward
movement, he threw his head and shoulders forward.
Thus the big paw clove, with a whirring sound, the empty air above him,
and, placing the muzzle of his pistol between the monster's eyes, he
fired.
The brute, as the bullet passed through its brain, slid away from the
tree, then clawed wildly at the air with both hands, uttered one loud,
humanlike scream, and went whirling down into the black abyss of the
ravine.
The ensign crept to land and helped Worth from the hollow. The boy had
been badly, though not seriously, injured by the force of the gorilla's
blow upon his cartridge-box, which had thus been jammed, as if with
the stroke of a sledge-hammer, against his body. As with his rescuer's
assistance he limped back toward the camp, now and then carefully
adjusting his broken haversack so that the "cherries" in it might not
drop out, he warmly thanked his companion for saving his life.
"Don't mention it," was the answer. "I am glad enough to have been able
to do something for you toward making up for my mistake of suspecting
that you meant to desert."
It was a joyful surprise to little Jack Winton when Worth brought the
"cherries" to him. They were of great benefit to the fever-stricken
lad, whose health began to improve the moment he had partaken of them.
The ensign had made light of his rescue of Worth, and had advised him
not to mention so "trifling a matter," as he termed it, to his comrades.
The boy, fearing that the knowledge of it would tend to unduly excite
the invalid, said nothing about it until Jack was fully recovered
from his illness, when he gave him an account of the whole affair.
The little fellow made it known to his uncle, the lieutenant; and
Dale's promotion, not long after, was, perhaps, partly due to this
circumstance.
Worth, who had never dreamed of being favored for the slight service
he had rendered his sick comrade, now attracted the notice of his
commander. The latter, perceiving his unvarying good conduct, soon made
him a corporal, from which position he eventually won his way to a
higher rank.
SWANS CARRIED OVER NIAGARA FALLS.
All naturalists and many sportsmen will recall the great destruction
of swans which took place in March, 1908, at Niagara Falls. A great
flock of these large and beautiful birds was carried down the river and
over the falls, and an authoritative account of the occurrence recently
appeared in a paper by James Savage, of Buffalo, N. Y., printed in the
bulletin of the Buffalo Society of Natural History, says _Forest and
Stream_.
While the whistling swan occurs regularly along the Niagara River, it
is always a rare migrant, and would scarcely ever be captured were it
not for the fact that it often floats down the river to injury or death
at the great cataract. Observers declare that scarcely a year passes
without one or more swans going over the falls. About twenty made the
fatal plunge in March, 1906, and five in the same month, 1907, but no
such destruction of swans has been known as took place on March 15,
1908, when more than 100 were destroyed.
During the greater part of the day a severe rain-storm prevailed. About
eleven o'clock in the morning, between showers, William Leblond, of
Niagara Falls, Ontario, was engaged in removing from the ice bridge a
temporary structure that had been used during the winter season as a
souvenir and refreshment-stand, when he was startled by a loud cry.
Turning around, his attention was first attracted to a swan struggling
in the water at the upper end of the ice bridge; but, on looking toward
the falls, he saw a great company of swans in distress coming toward
the bridge. The scene was a sad one for any bird-lover to contemplate.
These splendid birds, helpless after their terrible plunge over the
cataract, were dashed against the ice bridge by the swift current, amid
cakes of loose ice which were constantly coming down from the upper
river. Some had been killed outright by the falls. Others, unable to
fly because of injury to their wings, attempted to stem the rushing
waters, but here their wonderful swimming powers were of no avail.
They were soon imprisoned in the ice, where their pitiful cries were
heartrending.
The game-laws of Ontario will permit the taking of geese and swan in
the spring until April 30, and it was not long before men and boys,
armed with guns and sticks, availed themselves of the privilege and
became the chief factors in the closing scene of nature's great
tragedy--the sacrifice of the swans.
As soon as he learned of the occurrence, Mr. Savage visited Niagara
Falls, and from his investigation concluded that the number of swans
taken March 15 was 102. On the morning of March 18 two more were taken
at the ice bridge, and a third was picked up alive on the shore. It
was secured by Mr. Savage and photographed. Placed in the zoological
collection in Delaware Park, Buffalo, it recovered. Eleven more swans
were taken later, and some others were seen which, though apparently
carried over the falls, were still able to take wing and fly away.
But swans are not the only water-fowl that are in danger from Niagara.
On March 18, 1908, Mr. Savage saw a handsome male canvasback come down
against the ice bridge. It appeared to be unable to fly. On the same
day he saw a golden-eye duck struggle out of the foaming water below
the Horseshoe Falls and reach the shore. It made no attempt to escape
when picked up, and seemed unable to walk or fly. Later, however, it
recovered and did fly off.
Of the swans which went over the falls, many afterward appeared on the
table. A number were preserved by the taxidermists of Niagara Falls and
Toronto. A group of five appears in the museum of the Buffalo Society
of Natural Sciences. Mr. Savage saw not less than fifty of these dead
birds and looked them over carefully, thinking that perhaps there might
be among them a trumpeter swan, but none was found. Mr. Savage believes
that fully one-third of the 116 swans taken would have survived if
given proper care, but the impulse to kill was stronger than the spirit
to save, and not even a pair of these unfortunate birds was rescued
from nature's doom and restored to nature's freedom.
PARA RUBBER AND ITS GATHERING.
Rubber is collected by the natives in Brazil, who gather the thick,
creamlike sap which oozes from the hatchet-cut in the bark of the
rubber-trees. It is received in tiny cups of clay or tin, several
of which are emptied daily into pots and carried where the sap is
coagulated and "cured." The flow of sap from each tapping lasts but a
few hours, and the tree must be bled in fresh places daily.
The total yield from the most vigorous tree does not exceed three or
four pints in a season, and a considerable percentage of this is lost
by evaporation.
In the camps the Para rubber sap is coagulated over a fire of Uricuri
palm-nuts, built under an earthen pot, something like a slender-necked
jug without a bottom. A paddle is dipped into the thick sap, and then,
holding it in thick smoke, it is deftly turned in the operator's hands
until a thin layer of rubber is formed. An hour's work at this would
produce a lump, the foundation of a biscuit weighing five or six
pounds. When the biscuit has reached a weight of twenty-five pounds or
more, it is slit open, the paddle removed, and the rubber hung up to
dry. Rubber thus gathered and cured is the finest known.
From the forest the rubber is sent down the stream on crude boats,
later being placed on the steamers which ply the Amazon. When Manaos,
the second largest city in the Amazon country, is reached, the rubber
is boxed, though this is often left until its arrival at Para, at
the mouth of the Amazon River. Manaos is 1,200 miles from the sea,
so that considerable time is consumed in bringing the rubber to its
shipping-point to foreign lands. At Para it is placed in the ocean
liners destined for New York or some of the European countries.
QUEER CALIFORNIAN TRADERS.
The queerest "traders" in all vast California are the odd little
animals known as "trade rats."
They never steal, but give miscellaneous articles in exchange for what
they take.
A paste-pot left overnight in an assay office was found in the morning
filled with the oddest collection of rubbish.
This was the work of trade rats. They had stolen the paste, and left
in exchange a piece of stick, a length of rope, some odds and ends of
wire, and an unbroken glass funnel.
A trade rat's nest, found in an unoccupied house, was composed of iron
spikes laid in perfect symmetry, with the points outward. Interlaced
with the spikes were two dozen forks and spoons and three large
butcher-knives.
There were also a quantity of small carpenters' tools, and a watch, of
which the outside casing, the glass, and the works were all distributed
separately--to make a good show!
We are unable to state what this particular trade rat left in exchange
for all this "loot."
BURROWING FISHES.
In Brazil are to be found fishes, eellike in form, which burrow in
the mud during seasons of drought. In wet weather this curious class
of fish stores up in its system a reserve of fat, and then, when the
dry season arrives and the rivers dry up, it constructs a deep tubular
burrow, in which it doubles up, with head and tail together. The mouth
of the burrow is closed with a most ingeniously constructed mud flap,
through which are several small perforations, which permit the animal
to breathe air directly, as it is also one of the few species gifted
with both lungs and gills. While enclosed in its nest, the fish is
frequently dug out by the natives, who highly prize its flesh. In the
period of incubation it lives upon the reserve of fat accumulated
during the rainy season. When the early rains soften the soil, the fish
emerges from its burrow and resumes its aquatic existence.
TURN RIVER TO MINE ITS BED.
The tunnel to turn the Trinity River from its channel so that the
river-bed may be mined for gold is now in 1,150 feet. The total length
will be 1,400 feet. The tunnel cuts across a bend two miles above
Lewiston. The Trinity River Mining Company has a crew of eight men
at work. The tunnel is being dug 8 × 10 feet in size. When it is cut
through the hill at that size it will be enlarged to 10 × 12 feet,
making it big enough to carry the whole river at ordinary stages. The
water will be used at the tunnel outlet to run low-pressure turbines,
furnishing power for mining purposes. The river-bed is known to be rich
in gold. Over a mile of the bed can be mined when the river is turned
through the tunnel less than one-third of a mile in length.
_ESPECIALLY IMPORTANT!!_
MOTOR STORIES
_A New Idea in the Way of Five-Cent Weeklies._
Boys everywhere will be delighted to hear that Street & Smith are now
issuing this new five-cent weekly which will be known by the name of
MOTOR STORIES.
This weekly is entirely different from anything now being published.
It details the astonishing adventures of a young mechanic who owned a
motor cycle. Is there a boy who has not longed to possess one of these
swift little machines that scud about the roads everywhere throughout
the United States? Is there a boy, therefore, who will not be intensely
interested in the adventures of "Motor Matt," as he is familiarly
called by his comrades?
Boys, you have never read anything half so exciting, half so humorous
and entertaining as the first story listed for publication in this
line, called "=Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel=." Its fame is
bound to spread like wildfire, causing the biggest demand for the other
numbers in this line, that was ever heard of in the history of this
class of literature.
Here are the titles to be issued during the next few weeks. Do not fail
to place an order for them with your newsdealer.
No. 1. Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel.
No. 2. Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.
No. 3. Motor Matt's "Century" Run; or, The Governor's Courier.
No. 4. Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the _Comet_.
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THE PRICE.
_STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK_
_THE BEST OF THEM ALL!!_
MOTOR STORIES
IT IS NEW AND INTENSELY INTERESTING
We knew before we published this line that it would have a tremendous
sale and our expectations were more than realized. It is going with a
rush, and the boys who want to read these, the most interesting and
fascinating tales ever written, must speak to their newsdealers about
reserving copies for them.
=MOTOR MATT= sprang into instant favor with American boy readers and is
bound to occupy a place in their hearts second only to that now held by
Frank Merriwell.
The reason for this popularity is apparent in every line of these
stories. They are written by an author who has made a life study of
the requirements of the up-to-date American boy as far as literature
is concerned, so it is not surprising that this line has proven a huge
success from the very start.
Here are the titles now ready and also those to be published. You will
never have a better opportunity to get a generous quantity of reading
of the highest quality, so place your orders now.
=No. 1.--Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel.=
=No. 2.--Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.=
=No. 3.--Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier.=
=No. 4.--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the "Comet."=
TO BE PUBLISHED ON MARCH 22nd
=No. 5.--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot.=
TO BE PUBLISHED ON MARCH 29th
=No. 6.--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear.=
TO BE PUBLISHED ON APRIL 5th
=No. 7.--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto.=
TO BE PUBLISHED ON APRIL 12th
=No. 8.--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward.=
=Price, Five Cents=
To be had from newsdealers everywhere, or sent, postpaid, upon receipt
of the price by the publishers
_STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK_
Transcriber's Notes:
Added table of contents.
Italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=.
Phoenix was printed with oe ligatures in the original text.
Some inconsistent spellings within dialect have been retained.
Some inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. cottonwood vs. cotton-wood) has
been retained from the original.
Page 1, changed "Tomilson" to "Tomlinson" and "Ling" to "Sing" in cast
of characters.
Page 6, changed "under der drompone" to "und der drompone," "un der
sleigh-pells" to "und der sleigh-pells" and "No noddng" to "No nodding."
Page 10, added missing quote after "der Tenver bapers."
Page 12, changed ? to , after "Watching your car."
Page 17, changed "away then went" to "away they went."
Page 21, changed "had he pearls" to "had the pearls."
Page 22, added missing quote before "Does this road run."
Page 23, removed extra quote before "Spangler, for a moment."
Page 28, changed "west rode" to "west road" and added missing quote before "Well, unexpectedlike."
Page 29, changed "hundred of feet" to "hundreds of feet."
End of Project Gutenberg's Motor Matt's Mystery, by Stanley R. Matthews