MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
NO. 8
APR. 17, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
TRIUMPH
THREE SPEEDS
FORWARD
_By STANLEY R. MATTHEWS._
[Illustration: _Chub caught the murderous
hand just in time to save
Motor Matt._]
_STREET & SMITH
PUBLISHERS,
NEW YORK._
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to
Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of
Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue,
New York, N. Y._
No. 8. NEW YORK, April 17, 1909. Price Five Cents.
MOTOR MATT'S TRIUMPH;
OR,
THREE SPEEDS FORWARD.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. THE WHITE-CAPS.
CHAPTER II. MOTOR MATT'S FOES.
CHAPTER III. SUSPICIOUS DOINGS.
CHAPTER IV. A VILLAINOUS PLOT.
CHAPTER V. MATT GOES TROUBLE-HUNTING.
CHAPTER VI. HIGGINS TELLS WHAT HE KNOWS.
CHAPTER VII. BRISK WORK AT DODGE CITY.
CHAPTER VIII. MATT INTERVIEWS TRUEMAN.
CHAPTER IX. NO. 13.
CHAPTER X. WHERE IS MOTOR MATT?
CHAPTER XI. RUNNING DOWN A CLUE.
CHAPTER XII. FORTY-EIGHT HOURS OF DARKNESS.
CHAPTER XIII. AT THE LAST MINUTE.
CHAPTER XIV. THE FIRST HALF OF THE RACE.
CHAPTER XV. WELL WON, KING!
CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION.
TAKING A BIG 'GATOR.
A TIGERS' HAUNT.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad
of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won
for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of
"Mile-a-minute Matt."
=Chub McReady=, sometimes called plain "Reddy," for short, on account
of his fiery "thatch"--a chum of Matt, with a streak of genius for
inventing things that often lands the bold experimenter in trouble.
=Carl Pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking German lad, who is led by a
fortunate accident to hook up with Motor Matt in double harness.
=Colonel Plympton=, secretary of the Stark-Frisbie Motor Company.
=Uncle Tom=, an old darky who was once a member of a traveling
dramatic company, but who is now, by self-appointment, Motor Matt's
"'fishul mascot."
=Mr. Trueman=, of the Jarret Company, who gives Matt car No. 13 in
the race.
=Slocum=, an unprincipled schemer, who plays a deep game.
=Sercomb=, }
=Mings=, } six members of the Motor Drivers Association, some of
=Higgins=, } whom prove themselves ready to go to any length to
=Grier=, } keep Motor Matt out of the great race for the Borden
=Finn=, } Cup.
=Martin=, }
CHAPTER I.
THE WHITE-CAPS.
"Vat's der madder mit you? Ach, du lieber! Vaid a minid! For vy
you do dot monkey-doodle pitzness? Hoop-a-la! Oof it vas a fighdt,
den ged avay, a gouple oof tozen oof you, und come ad me vone py
each. I show you somet'ing, py shings, vat you don'd like und--Wow!
Himmelblitzen----"
The clamor which suddenly arose in that dark Denver cross-street was as
suddenly hushed.
It was about nine o'clock in the evening, and two lamps on distant
corners shed about as much light as a pair of tallow-dips. Midway
between the two street-lamps lay the mouth of a gloomy alley, and here
it was that the frantic commotion burst out and died abruptly.
A Dutch boy had been walking along the street, accompanied by a
"loudly" dressed youth. At the entrance to the alley the Dutch boy's
companion had stopped and given a low whistle. Almost immediately, and
before the Teuton fairly realized what was going on, three figures had
rushed from the gloom of the alley.
The Dutchman was caught from all sides, and, as he struggled, broke
into a wild torrent of words. The torrent was suddenly stemmed by a
cloth which was thrown over his head from behind; then, while smothered
into silence and held helpless, he was lifted and borne along the alley
to a basement door.
One of the four captors descended to the door and knocked three times
in a peculiar manner. The door was pulled open, captors and captive
vanished swiftly inside, and the door was closed. An inner door now
confronted the party, and the same knock was given here as had been
given outside.
"Who approaches?" demanded a sepulchral voice.
"Four drivers of racing-cars," answered the spokesman of the party,
"bringing the Dutch chum of the fellow who calls himself Motor Matt."
"Give me the countersign."
"Four speeds forward and one reverse."
The countersign was whispered.
"Enter, drivers, and finish your work," went on the sepulchral voice.
Two minutes later the Dutch boy was seated in a chair, released, and
the cloth whisked from his head. With a shout of anger he started to
his feet.
"Sit down!" commanded a voice sternly.
The captive was blinded by a glare of acetyline lamps, the rays of
which crossed the room from all four walls, interlacing and merging
in one comprehensive glow. Gradually, as the captive's eyes became
accustomed to the light, he made out the mouth of a small cannon thrust
into his face. Back of the gun stood a figure cowled in white.
The Dutch boy started back from the leveled weapon and sank into his
chair once more; then his wondering eyes swerved about him.
An automobile stood in front of him, backed up against the stone wall
of the basement. It was a two-passenger roadster, with acetyline and
oil-lamps lighted. In the driver's seat sat another cowled figure.
Three chairs on either side of the automobile held more of the
white-caps, all rigidly erect and silent.
"Vat a foolish pitzness!" growled the captive. "Oof you hat a ring ve
vould haf a circus, und----"
"Silence!" thundered the white-cap with the gun.
He had taken a seat at the captive's side, and leaned from his chair to
poke the point of the weapon in the captive's ribs.
Honk, honk!
The man in the car tooted his horn.
"Number Three," said he, "will report."
From one of the chairs on the right a white-cap arose, stepped in front
of the car and kowtowed.
"Most Honorable King of Chauffeurs," said he, "I have to report that
I met the captive at the railroad-station. He had claimed a couple of
grips and sent them to a hotel by an expressman. I informed him that my
name was Higgins, and that I had something of importance to tell him
about this fellow who calls himself Motor Matt. He swallowed the bait,
hook and all, and I brought him past the mouth of the alley. Aided by
Numbers One, Two, and Four, we captured him easily."
Honk, honk!
"Very good, Number Three," said the King of Chauffeurs; "return to your
station."
Number Three sat down.
"Py shiminy grickets!" cried the captive, who had been watching and
listening with a good deal of amazement, "it looks like I vas Numper
Nodding mit a douple cross alongsite!"
"Your name, captive?" demanded the man in the car.
"Carl Pretzel, Most Eggselent King oof der Sore Headts----"
Honk, honk!
"If the prisoner refers again to the head of this exalted society in
such insulting terms, Warder, put a hole through him!"
This from the man in the car.
"Even so, your highness!" answered the Warder.
"You are the chum of the Big High Butter-in who calls himself Motor
Matt?" proceeded the man in the car.
Carl's temper rushed to the surface.
"Don'd you make some insulding remarks neider!" he scowled. "Modor Matt
don'd vas a putter-in! Und I peen his chum, efery tay und all der dime,
yah, so helup me."
"Motor Matt came to Denver with Mr. James Q. Tomlinson, in Mr.
Tomlinson's touring-car, the Red Flier?" proceeded the man in the car.
"Vat iss it your pitzness?" demanded Carl.
"Motor Matt has come here to enter the racing-field?" continued the
other.
"Vell, he iss a pedder triver as anypody, und vy nod?"
"He intends to apply to Colonel Plympton for a place on the
Stark-Frisbie staff of racers? He wants to drive a car in the race for
the Bordon cup?"
"I don'd say nodding. Vatefer Modor Matt toes, he vill do, und it vill
be pedder oof you leaf him alone."
"Carl Pretzel," went on the man in the car sternly, "we have a line
on this Motor Matt. He is the original Buttinsky. Wherever he goes
he noses around for a place where he can meddle with other people's
business. A week ago he was at his old tricks down in New Mexico,
and----"
Carl jumped to his feet angrily.
"Sit down!" commanded the fellow at his side, jabbing him with the
muzzle of the gun.
"Ven I ged goot und retty," fumed Carl, "I vill sot down, und nod
pefore. I know vat I know, und I shpeak it oudt. Make some holes in
me oof you vant, aber I don'd t'ink you haf der nerf to make holes in
anypody. Modor Matt don'd vas a Puttinsky. Dis iss a free goundry,
I bed you, und no fellers in nighdt-gowns iss going to make some
fault-findings mit my chum, Modor Matt. Vat he do in New Mexico? Vy, he
safe his friendt, Tick Verral, from being killed twice. Dot's vat he
dit mit his putting-ins. I don'd shday here no more und lis'en to sooch
talk vat you make. Vich iss der vay oudt? Oof you don'd led me go, py
shinks I make you more drouples as I can dell!"
Carl started toward the door.
Honk, honk!
"Seize him, drivers!" called the man in the car. "Bind him, blindfold
him, and place him in the car. Assisted by the Warder, I will carry
him off. Remain here, the rest of you, until we return and go into
executive session."
Carl was grabbed by all the white-caps; then, after he had been thrown
on the floor, his feet and hands were tied and a cloth was bound over
his eyes.
"Pretzel," went on the voice of the man in the car, "we racing-drivers
are particular about those who enter our ranks. If Motor Matt attempts
to race for the Borden cup, he will never live to face the tape at the
start. In your pocket we will place a communication which you will
deliver to him. It contains a threat and a warning. Let him ignore that
letter at his peril."
"You fellers make me so dired as I don'd know!" stormed Carl,
struggling to free himself. "Modor Matt don'd vas a kevitter. Vat you
say don'd make no odds aboudt ter tifference. You vill know more vone
oof dose tays dan vat you t'ink. Pah! You vas all a back oof gowards,
und don'd haf der nerf to show your faces! Ven I dell Modor Matt
vat----"
Honk, honk!
"Gag him, drivers, and lay him in the car!"
Something was pushed between Carl's lips and tied there. He still
continued to splutter, but the sounds were muffled and the words
indistinct.
He felt himself lifted and crumpled into the front of the roadster.
"Open the doors!" ordered the driver in the car. "Number One, crank-up!"
Carl could hear the doors thrown ajar, and this noise was followed by
the popping of the motor as the cylinders took the explosion.
"Remember what I say, drivers," called the leader of the gang, "and
wait here for us to return. We have plans to consider."
Then the car moved off on the low gear. Carl felt it turn through the
entrance and chuggety-chug up an incline; another turn and they were in
the alley, another and they were in the street. After that, for a few
minutes, the vehicle flew swiftly. Presently it halted, Carl's ropes
were stripped away, and he was thrown out.
Stumbling to his knees, he began frantically jerking off the cloth that
covered his eyes, and the gag that interfered with his speech.
The tail-light of the roadster was just vanishing around a corner. Carl
shook his fist after the car and got to his feet, saying things to
himself.
His novel experience had dazed him. It was all so unreal that it seemed
like a dream.
Still muttering to himself, he made his way to the sidewalk, found a
policeman, inquired his way to the Clifton House, and set out hurriedly
to find Motor Matt, and report.