THE STAMPEDE.
It was the custom of the ranchers to keep their cattle in the hills
until they were nearly ready for market, then drive them down into Salt
River Valley, turn them into the alfalfa-fields and let them fatten
before shipment.
This herd of lean, brown cattle, wild as coyotes, had been started for
the grass-lands of the valley. Very little was required to start a
panic among them, and this panic had hit them at the very worst place
possible on the entire drive.
With heads down, tongues protruding, foam flying from their open
mouths, and horns knocking, the frenzied animals hurled themselves
onward. Even if the sight of the automobile had frightened them, there
could be no turning back for the leaders of the herd, pressed as they
were by the charging brutes in the rear. And, of course, the character
of the roadside, at that point, prevented any turning out or scattering.
All that lay between the boys and destruction was the speed of the car.
If a tire blew up, or if anything went wrong with the machinery, the
tidal wave of cattle would roll on over the car and its passengers.
"We're in fer it, fellers!" shouted Chub, who was in a good position to
note the full extent of the danger.
There was no hanging back on Motor Matt's part. He was on the high
speed, and caressing the throttle-lever as he steered.
"We're leaving 'em behind!" announced Clip. "Keep it up, Matt."
The red roadster was not only leaving the frightened herd behind, but
was coming up with the cowboy, hand over fist.
"We'll have to slow down!" called Matt, between his clenched teeth,
his flashing gray eyes straight ahead; "if we don't, we'll run over the
man on the horse."
Just then they turned a bit of an angle that gave them a glimpse of
Welcome Perkins. Faint sounds of the uproar behind had reached the old
man. Planted in the middle of the road, he was staring back, wondering,
no doubt, why the horseman was tearing along at such a rate of speed,
and why the red roadster was letting itself out on the back track. But
the old man was not kept long in doubt. Through the haze of dust back
of the automobile he saw the plunging cattle.
The next moment he went straight up in the air with a terrified yell
and made a dash for the side of the road. As fate would have it, the
road at that point was hemmed in with banks too steep to be scaled;
nevertheless, Welcome clawed frantically at the rocks.
"Stand whar ye are!" roared the cowboy. "I'll take ye up with me."
Welcome's peril struck wild alarm to the hearts of the boys. They
realized that if they had insisted on the old man getting into the car
he would not now be in that terrible predicament.
In order to get Welcome up behind him the cowboy had to throw himself
back on the bit and bring the horse to a quick halt. He leaned down to
help Welcome up, and Welcome, who was almost as frenzied as the steers,
gave a wild jump and grabbed saddle-horn and cantle. Under his weight,
and the weight of the cowboy, which was temporarily thrown on the same
side, the saddle turned. Welcome dropped into the road, and his would
be rescuer pitched on top of him. The horse, thoroughly frightened,
jumped away and continued his breakneck pace down the road.
Yells of consternation went up from Chub and Clip. Matt had been
obliged to bring the car almost to a halt while the cowboy was trying
to pick up Welcome. The leaders of the stampeding herd had come
dangerously close.
"They're on us!" whooped Chub despairingly; "we're all done for!"
"Not yet," shouted Matt, sending the car ahead toward the place where
Welcome and the cowboy were scrambling to their feet. "Take 'em both
aboard! Quick on it, now, and we'll get away."
The car rumbled up abreast of the two in the road.
"Jump in!" shouted Clip; "hustle!"
Welcome threw himself into the front of the car and the cowboy made a
flying leap for the rumble. Clip grabbed one and Chub caught the other.
By then the foremost of the steers were almost nosing the rear of the
car.
Matt, without losing an instant, threw the lever clear over, and the
roadster flung away like an arrow from a bow, on the high speed; then,
a second later, he opened the throttle and the six purring cylinders
sent the car along at a gait that was double that of the pursuing
cattle.
"Wow!" panted Welcome, who had both arms around Clip and was hanging
to him like grim death. "Keep holt o' me! I feel like every minute was
goin' to be my next! Slow down a leetle, can't ye? If ye don't we'll
be upside down in the ditch! Whoosh! I'd ruther take chances with them
steers than ridin' a streak o' lightnin' like this. Br-r-r!"
Welcome was getting all the fast riding he wanted. The red roadster
whipped and slewed around the curves, and leaped like lightning across
the straight-away stretches. Matt, cool as a summer day and as steady
as a clock, had eyes and ears for nothing but that terrible flight.
Two minutes sufficed to bring the car out of the hills and onto the
level plains.
"All right, pard!" cried Chub from the rear; "slow down, now, whenever
you please. The cowboys have got ahead of the herd and the leaders are
beginning to mill."
Matt slowed the pace to a ten-mile gait, and Welcome, with a gasp of
relief, dropped in a limp huddle.
"Shade o' Gallopin' Dick!" he mumbled, pulling a sleeve across his
dripping forehead. "I've been in snug corners a-plenty durin' my
hootin', tootin' career, but dadbinged if I ever had a closter call
than this here. When I uster ride," he added, with a sour look at
the cowboy in the rumble, "fellers useter know how to cinch up their
saddles so'st they _stay_."
"The givin' way o' that saddle," returned the cowboy, "was the best
thing that ever happened to us. If I'd got you aboard that cayuse,
Peg-leg, them cattle would hev nipped us, sure. The boss never could
hev carried double an' got us out o' the way. This here devil-wagon,"
he finished, addressing the boys, "sartinly saved our scalps. I'm
obliged ter ye fer what ye done."
"Where do those cattle belong?" asked Chub.
"To the Fiddleback outfit, same as me. I'm Josh Fresnay, an' I'm ridin'
to town with the ole man's check fer ten thousand in gold ter pay off
at the ranch. Got ter git ter the bank by three o'clock, 'r I won't be
able ter git the money. I kin sojer back at any ole time ter-night,
jest so'st the boys kin git their hooks on the dinero in the mornin'."
Chub introduced himself, Matt, Clip, and Welcome.
"Ye don't mean ter say," cried Fresnay, "that it's Motor Matt himself
that made this devil-wagon cut that hole in the air?"
"Sure it is," laughed Chub. "Put him behind a motor an' you can bet
your spurs there's somethin' doing."
"Waal, I reckon!" returned Fresnay enthusiastically. "Blamed few
fellers in this part o' the kentry hevn't heerd o' Motor Matt. He's
the one that ketched Dangerfield, the feller that was smugglin' Chinks
inter the kentry, an' helped Burke, the Prescott sher'f, wind up the
gang. Shore I've heerd o' Motor Matt. Put 'er thar, son!" and Fresnay
leaned over the back of the seat and offered Matt his hand.
The young motorist laughed as he gave the cowboy's hand a cordial shake.
"It's easy to get talked about, Fresnay," said he.
"That's right!" declared the cowboy. "Rob a bank, er save a gal from
gittin' run over by a train--almost anythin'll do ter make yer name a
household word. Now, as fer me----"
The cowboy broke off his remarks with a long whistle. He was standing
in the rumble, holding himself upright by gripping the back of the
two front seats. His eyes, traveling along the trail over the heads
of Matt and Clip, had seen something which aroused his surprise and
gratification.
"Waal, great horn spoons!" he cried. "If thar ain't Ole Beeswax, that
cayuse o' mine, I'm a sinner! I'll be hornswoggled if I ain't playin'
in luck, this trip. I'll be able ter git out now, McReady," he added to
Chub, "an' give ye a leetle more room."
Some distance away the horse was being held in the road. A tall man
had the animal by the bridle. The man had a swarthy face, was roughly
dressed, wore moccasins, and had evidently been footing it along the
trail.
As the red roadster came closer, Matt stared at the man keenly, and a
muttered exclamation escaped his lips. As he brought the car to a halt,
Matt's gaze swerved to Clip.
Clip's eyes were like smoldering coals, and he was sitting rigidly
erect.
"Feller looks like a half-breed," murmured Welcome Perkins. "Got all
the earmarks o' one. Seein' as how he was travelin' afoot, it strikes
me as some remarkable he didn't h'ist himself inter the saddle an' ride
off with that hoss. Half-breeds, as a rule, ain't got much regard fer
other folk's property. Mebby he was intendin' to. I see he's got the
saddle back on top o' the hoss."
Fresnay tumbled out of the car and walked over to the half-breed.
"Hello, neighbor!" he called. "I see ye've caught up my hoss. He got
away from me back there in the hills."
The half-breed grunted, swept his eyes over the cowboy and then over
those in the car, and stepped forward to lay the reins in Fresnay's
hand.
"Heap easy to ketch um," said he.
Clip and Chub got out to stretch their legs. Welcome gurgled
delightedly as he sprawled himself in Clip's seat. Matt continued to
watch the half-breed, but covertly.
Fresnay fished a silver dollar out of his pocket.
"I ain't got much dinero about my clothes, neighbor," he observed, "but
here's a cart-wheel fer yer trouble."
The half-breed grabbed the dollar, spun it in the air, caught it as it
came down, then slipped it into his pocket. As he drew out his hand,
Matt saw something in it that looked like a folded paper--perhaps a
note. The half-breed tried to conceal the paper in his palm, and Matt
believed that he was the only one in the party who saw it.
While Fresnay was climbing to the back of the horse, the half-breed,
tossing Matt a significant look, brushed past Clip and tucked the
folded paper into his hand with a quick, stealthy movement, then
whirled, left the trail and strode quickly away. Clip, his eyes still
burning and with a strange look crossing his face, hid the paper deftly
in the pocket of his coat.
"Never did like a half-breed nohow," grunted Welcome. "They ain't ter
be depended on, an' I makes it a rule to walk around 'em just as I
would a rattler."
Clip shot a glance of angry defiance at the garrulous old man. For the
moment Welcome had forgotten that Clip was a quarter-blood, himself.