ANOTHER TWIST--BY MATT AND M'GLORY.
"I don't like your attitude," said Lorry haughtily, to the officer when
they were all in the office.
"Naturally," grinned the policeman, "I'm not responsible for that."
"Well," ordered George, "search them, take the money and give it to me.
That's all I want. They've got it, I know they have."
"You bet we've got it, George," said McGlory, opening the satchel
and fishing out the bunch of bills. "How does that look to you?
Everything's all shipshape, too, even to the name of the bank on the
wrapper."
George gave a cry of delight and started forward.
"See him!" cried McGlory, calmly pushing his cousin back with one hand
and thrusting the money into his breast pocket with the other.
"I want that, McGlory," snapped George.
"I know you do, but you don't get it."
"Come, come," put in the officer. "There's a whole lot of money in that
roll----"
"Ten thousand, officer."
"Does it belong to this young fellow?"
"Not that anybody knows. He stole it, and we've just got it back from a
bunch of crooks who lifted it from him."
The officer frowned.
"Ah," he muttered, "this is beginning to look serious. He says you two
boys are thieves, and now you're accusing him of being a thief."
"There's a difference, officer," said McGlory.
"Difference?"
"Sure. We can prove our case, and he can't prove his."
"How'll you prove it?"
"Why, by sending a telegram to this young chap's father, in Madison,
Wisconsin. Police headquarters will keep the money until an answer is
received to that message."
Lorry went pale and began to tremble.
"I won't have it that way," he declared hotly.
"I guess you will," said the officer grimly. "That's a fair way to
settle this business, and you ought to abide by your father's orders if
these other young fellows are willing to."
"They've got some game they're trying to play," scowled George, "and I
won't stand for it. I'll make you all sorry for this," he threatened,
turning away.
The officer grabbed him before he had taken two steps.
"Where you going, Lorry?" he asked.
"Take your hands off of me!" ordered Lorry, striking feebly at the big
fist that had collared him. "I'm going where I please, and you've no
right to interfere with me."
"You're going to headquarters," asserted the policeman, "and it's there
you'll stay until an answer is returned to that telegram."
"You gave the game a twist, George," grinned McGlory, "and now here's
another twist, by Motor Matt and me."
"What made you think of such a foolish move, George?" asked Matt. "You
didn't really think we were trying to steal that money, did you?"
"How'd I know?" snarled Lorry sullenly. "I haven't a very good opinion
of McGlory, and if you travel around with him I can't have a much
better opinion of you."
Motor Matt was disgusted.
"McGlory and I will go to headquarters with you, officer," said he,
"and explain this to the chief. The quicker that telegram is sent, the
better."
The straightforward story which Matt and the cowboy told the chief of
police aroused nothing but pity and contempt for young Lorry.
A telegram was forwarded to George's father, at Madison, and all three
of the boys were treated as guests, rather than as prisoners, by the
chief while they awaited an answer to the message.
This interval Matt put in to good advantage. In his memorandum book he
had the number of the baggage check which had been turned over to Big
John, and also the name of the railroad by which it had been issued.
At Matt's suggestion, the chief sent a couple of officers to the depot
to examine the trunk, and also to warn the railroad officials to call a
policeman at once in case any man presented the baggage check and tried
to claim the trunk.
In two hours the two officers were back, highly elated. They had opened
the trunk and had found it to contain, securely packed in a lot of
clothing, a very complete burglar's kit.
"We can understand now," remarked the chief, "why those rascals were so
anxious to secure the trunk check. In order to claim the trunk without
the check, they would have had to identify the property. They would
have looked nice describing that set of burglar's tools, wouldn't they?
My word for it, no one will ever show up at the station and try to
claim that trunk. After what has happened, it would be altogether too
dangerous."
The trunk and the burglar's kit were confiscated by the police.
It was evening before McGlory received a telegram from his Uncle
Dan. The message was a long one, and entirely satisfactory to the
authorities, even if not so pleasing to Lorry.
The message ran as follows:
"Thank you for what you have done. My desire is to have you take
charge of money and to bring George back home. This Motor Matt, who
has already been of so much aid, might be willing to come with you
and help still further. Use as much of the money as needed for your
expenses. Prefer to have George brought home by you than to send
officers for him. Bring him whether he wants to come or not. We will
take care of him when he gets here."
"I'll not go," declared Lorry, when the telegram was read to him.
"I guess you will, old chap," said McGlory. "There'll be two of us, and
if we have to, you know, we can carry you to the train."
If Lorry's looks reflected his feelings, his frame of mind was anything
but enviable. As a precaution, he was to be left at police headquarters
until train time.
"You're going along, eh, pard?" asked McGlory, as soon as he had got
Matt where he could talk to him privately.
"It's a sudden turn for me," answered Matt. "Yesterday, at this time,
I hadn't any more idea of going to Wisconsin than I had of going to
China."
"What difference does it make to you where you are, Matt, so long as
you're making a little good money?"
"Money isn't everything, Joe."
"No more it ain't, but in this case, Matt, you're helping a couple of
mighty good people--and by that, I mean Uncle Dan and Aunt Mollie."
"If I go, McGlory, it will be to help somebody else."
"Who?"
"Why, George, himself. I think there's good stuff in him if it could be
brought out."
"Hear him! Matt, George is as near a false alarm as you'll find
anywhere. He's not more than half baked; if he wasn't all of that, do
you think he'd have tried to have us arrested for stealing that money?"
"He's all worked up, now, and has been for quite a while," explained
Matt. "When a fellow's in that condition, Joe, he's not wholly
responsible for what he does."
"Talk about making a man of George is all a summer breeze, Matt. He
hasn't a thing to build on, if you count out the cigarette habit."
Matt mused for a little while.
"He likes motor boats, I believe you said, Joe?" he queried at last.
"Well, yes," laughed McGlory, "a liking for boats seems to run in the
family. It was a motor boat, you _sabe_, that started George on his
last dash for the Pacific Slope and freedom. But what of that?"
"I was thinking that a course of motor boats might develop George into
a different person."
McGlory whistled. Then he laughed.
"You're over my head, Matt," said he, "but that's nothing. The point
is, will you go? I don't care what sort of a fool notion takes you,
just so you see me through to the end of the trip."
"I'll go," replied Matt.
McGlory reached out his hand.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (22) WILL CONTAIN
Motor Matt's Enemies;
OR,
A STRUGGLE FOR THE RIGHT.
On the Road to Waunakee--Into a Noose, and Out of It Again--George's
Sister--The "Jump Spark"--By Express, Charges Collect--"Pickerel
Pete"--George and McGlory Missing--Setting a Snare--Enemies to be
Feared--Between Fire and Water--Chums to the Rescue--How Fate Threw
the Dice--Under the Overturned Boat--A Dash for the Open--The Power
Boat, Minus the Power--A Reconciliation.
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
NEW YORK, July 17, 1909.
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THE MAN-EATER.
I was traveling on duty from Kolicaad on the coast to an inland
station, by a road, crossing the Western Ghauts, which was entirely
new to me. Two bullock carts carried my kit; my half a dozen servants
marched alongside, while I headed the procession on horseback. Before
leaving Kolicaad I had ascertained that the route was furnished
throughout with travelers' rest houses; that after the first three
marches the country became wild; that a few coffee plantations--managed
by Europeans--lay scattered about the loftier hills, and that from
the third stage--Cerrianaad--right away to the further foot of the
Ghauts, I would traverse heavy jungle, said to be swarming with wild
animals. This last piece of information would have gladdened a seasoned
shikarrie--or sportsman--but to me it was immaterial, as I was not
much given that way. I was only nineteen years of age, owned nothing
in the shape of firearms, and had yet to acquire that love of big game
shooting which took such strong hold of me in after years.
After we passed Cerrianaad the country became more hilly, the track
zigzagged and curved, the dense jungle shut in the road, hamlets grew
fewer and further between, and the only natives to be seen abroad were
wayfarers--all in large bodies--who told us that they purposely made up
parties for the sake of security. I could see that my followers were
fast becoming uneasy; they huddled together, while the bullock drivers
frantically urged their sluggish cattle into keeping pace with me on
horseback. We reached the next stage--Wuddagherry--without adventure;
but here we learned something that well-nigh drove my servants into a
panic, and made me ardently wish that I had a gun of any description
in my hands. Soon after our arrival the head man of Wuddagherry hamlet
came to me and asked if I intended going on to Malanaad the following
day. I understood him, for I had already picked up the local language.
"Yes," I replied.
"You must take care to reach it as early as possible, sir; for it is a
long stage, fifteen miles; the road is difficult, and very dangerous."
"How is it more dangerous than from Cerrianaad to this?" I inquired
with surprise; for no one at Kolicaad had said anything about the stage
in question being particularly perilous.
"Almost opposite to Malanaad hamlet, sir, about a quarter of a mile
off the road to the right, an English gentleman has lately commenced
clearing the jungle to make a coffee plantation. He has built an iron
house and iron lines for his coolies."
"That's good news, head man: I shall certainly go and stay the night
with the gentleman rather than at the Malanaad bungalow--all by myself."
"But, sir," continued the villager, now speaking in an awed whisper,
"a man-eating tiger that is supposed to have wandered up from the low
country on the other side is haunting the plantation! The Malanaad
hamlet is walled in; the people do not stir out after dark, so the
tiger is preying on the gentleman's coolies, who are not so protected."
Danger, indeed! I had heard and read of man eaters, but had never
encountered one. What if the demon happened to be lurking by the
roadside as we passed? What if he should pop out on to us? What could I
do? Nothing!
"Is the gentleman by himself?"
"No, sir; he has a son of about thirteen years, and a little daughter,
much younger. I saw them all when they rested here on their way up."
"No lady?"
"No, sir; but there was an old ayah who attended on the little girl."
I felt sorry for the isolated Englishman, especially when I thought
of his two children, leading a lonely life in a jungle, cut off from
the society of those of their own color. Knowing how gladly they would
welcome me, I should certainly have claimed the planter's hospitality
for one night at least had not the villager's news about the tiger
put me off the idea. No, I was not going to run any risk: I would go
straight to the Malanaad bungalow.
After dismissing the head man, I summoned my trembling followers,
heartened them as best I could, and added that we would start
sufficiently early in the morning to insure our reaching Malanaad well
before sundown.
Accordingly, we set out soon after dawn, and proceeded in close order,
keeping a bright lookout on all sides. The road wound, dipped, and
climbed; the thick jungle lined it on both flanks, and frequently
formed a canopy over our heads. We heard occasional weird cries in the
forest, but saw nothing; and we met no one till the afternoon, when,
all at once, as we cleared a bend, I saw a narrow road branching off to
the right, and three figures standing under a tree just where the two
tracks joined. One was a European lad of some thirteen years, the other
a flaxen-haired little girl of eight or so--both wearing sun hats--and
the third an old ayah, or maid; the planter's children, no doubt, with
the maid in attendance. But why there--a quarter of a mile from their
home? Why with only a solitary old native woman, while a man-eating
tiger, not to say other dangerous animals, perhaps crouched in the very
thicket behind them? My blood curdled as I thought it. No sooner did
they behold me than all three ran forward.
"Halloa! Who are you?" I asked, dismounting and signing my carts to
halt.
"Oh, we are so glad to see you!" answered the boy, eagerly and
breathlessly. "My name is Jimmy Simpson: this is my sister Maud, and
the old woman is her nurse. We are Mr. Simpson's children: we live up
at the plantation, and--and we are in great trouble."
"What trouble?" I demanded.
"A man-eating tiger commenced coming here a few nights ago, and has
killed several of our coolies. My father has not been able to shoot
it. Many of the coolies ran away; and, as father could not make the
plantation without men, he and Pote have gone down the other side of
the hills to get some."
"Who's Pote?"
"Father's assistant. They went the day before yesterday, leaving us in
the care of the servants and the few coolies who still stayed. That
night the tiger came about eight o'clock, the same time as before, and
killed a man who had gone out of doors. The next morning every coolie
and all our house servants ran away: they said they were too frightened
to stop any longer. But the ayah wouldn't leave Maud. We are afraid of
spending another night by ourselves, so, as the tiger does not show
himself till about eight o'clock, we came out here, and have been
waiting all the afternoon in hopes of meeting some one who would stay
at the bungalow with us. Father won't be back for a week. Oh, sir, do
come and stay with us!" he concluded pleadingly.
I thought that if I did halt here--even for a week--and I explained
the reason to my superiors, they would not blame me. It was against
human nature to leave these poor children alone in their fix. I did
not see how I could suggest their abandoning the house, with all
their father's property in it, and accompanying me to the comparative
safety of the Malanaad bungalow--the very fact of Jimmy Simpson's
expressing no such wish barred the idea. I therefore decided to give
them my companionship--little though it might afford in the shape of
protection. So, telling my people to go on to the travelers' bungalow,
I turned up the side road with the children.
In the centre of a clearing stood a corrugated iron house, with a
high-pitched roof, and a veranda running all round, above which opened
some ventilating windows. Several trees had been allowed to stand
close to the house--evidently to give shade--while at the back was a
range of out-houses for servants, and two long rows of "lines" for the
coolies--all built of the same material as the main house. Excepting
the high ventilators, every door and window was closed, and not a sound
save that of our footsteps broke the reigning stillness. Young Simpson
unlocked a door, and we entered the bungalow. The ayah brought me
some refreshing drink, which was very welcome after my journey, and I
chatted for some time with the children, with whom I soon became fast
friends.
"Well," said I at length, "I must leave you for an hour or so. I have
got to see my things safely stowed away at the travelers' bungalow.
Then I'll trot back here for the night with some of my men."
"Please don't be longer than you can help, Mr. Geoffrey!" begged the
lad.
"I'll be as quick as I can," I replied. "Be ready to open the door when
you see us approaching."
And I hurried away.
My followers, however, were obdurate, and no amount of threats or
coaxing would induce them to budge from the travelers' bungalow. During
my absence the man in charge, and the villagers, had been telling them
all about the tiger, and they flatly refused to accompany me to the
plantation house. I had no alternative, therefore, but to go alone.
I must confess to a strong sensation of nervousness as, with lantern in
hand, I set out on my return journey to the Simpsons'. But I had picked
up an idea somewhere that a man-eating tiger was peculiarly regular as
regarded the time of his visits to the locality he preyed on. Jimmy had
said that this brute appeared at eight o'clock or thereabouts; so, it
now being only a little past seven, I imagined that I had forestalled
the tiger. I reached the clearing, saw the light shining through the
upper ventilator windows, reconnoitred as well as the darkness would
allow, listened intently, and then pushed boldly across.
I had hardly got halfway ere I heard Jimmy's voice, muffled and
indistinct, from within the building.
"All right, Jimmy!" I answered, dashing on. "Here I am! Open the door!"
"Climb! Climb!" I now plainly heard him cry. "The tiger's close by
somewhere!"
The words temporarily paralyzed me. I looked to see the monster shoot
into the rays of my lantern; I already felt his fangs at my throat! He
must have observed my approach, and concealed himself--to pounce on me!
Jimmy must have marked the manoeuvre, and had shouted a warning in his
childish way! With the beast at the door, so to speak, of course I did
not expect the boy to open it: before I could slip in the tiger would
probably be up, and either grab me or enter the house. No; the boy was
quite right in keeping the door shut.
These thoughts flashed through my mind in a moment: the next, nerved
by despair, and roused to action by Jimmy's reiterated cry of "Climb!
Climb!" I glanced wildly about me and found myself close to one of
the shady trees already alluded to. It was a moderately sized tree,
with a smooth, straight stem, and much foliage at the top. Dropping
my lantern--fortunately, without upsetting it--I threw myself on
that trunk, and frantically shinned up. I was just in time: I had
barely got out of harm's way ere, with a hideous roar, a long, lanky,
mangy-looking tiger squirmed round the corner of the house, came in
a series of bounds to the tree, and then, rearing on end, tried to
hook me down! I could hear his claws tearing the bark; I expected the
cruel talons to pierce my flesh; but luckily he could not reach me,
and I hauled myself up among the branches into comparative safety.
It now remained to be seen whether the beast could and would follow
me. At the time I knew nothing of the tiger's climbing powers; so I
watched my enemy in an agony of doubt--to be inexpressibly relieved
when I realized that he could not do it! He was old--as most man-eaters
are: he hung on to the base of the stem, but, after many ineffectual
attempts, he desisted: the task was beyond him: he was unable to draw
himself up!
For the present I was safe, then, and had time to look about me. Taking
my position in the centre of the tree, I topped the veranda roof, and I
could almost see in through one of the ventilator windows; but a good
six feet yawned between the inmost tree twig and the veranda eave; a
gap that I could not cover even had I good foothold to spring from.
Nothing remained, therefore, but to make the best of it, and trust to
the feline sneaking off at daylight. Accordingly, I was about seeking
a comfortable branch to spend the night on when Jimmy called, "Mr.
Geoffrey!"
"Halloa!" I shouted in reply; "I'm safe up the tree, Jimmy, thanks to
your warning."
"But you are not safe!" he wailed hysterically.
"Why, where's the danger? The brute has tried to climb the tree, but
failed: he can't get at me."
"Yes, he can, if he thinks of the wood stack!"
"What wood stack?"
"There, at the end of the veranda, just round the corner! If he climbs
by it on to the veranda roof, he can jump from there into the tree!
I've only just thought of it!"
My lantern rays did not penetrate so far. I peered through the gloom
in the direction indicated, and could dimly make out a number of log
ends projecting beyond the side wall, and heaped to the full height of
the veranda itself. Clearly, then, if the tiger thought of that stack
he would certainly climb it, come along the veranda roof to the tree,
spring across the gap, seize and carry me with him to the ground! As
I contemplated these probabilities I nigh yielded to despair: I broke
into a cold perspiration, and I murmured a prayer for aid. That my
prayer was answered is proved by my now living to tell this story. But
I had yet to get out of my fix. I was given little leisure to reflect,
for the tiger--as if Jimmy's words had given him the hint--walked
off and disappeared round the corner; a scrambling, scratching sound
followed, and before I could well believe my eyes, there came the
brute, sneaking along the inclined plane of the veranda roof!
Could I--after warning Jimmy to unfasten the door--slip down the tree
and dash into the house? No; though the varmint could not climb I
felt sure he could drop, and that almost before I touched ground he
would be upon me. The ugly cat crawled along the sloped iron sheeting,
halted abreast of the tree, and set up a hoarse purr on spotting
me--cowering amid the branches. He crept closer and closer to the eave
till he could come no further--then gathered himself up for a spring!
He strained and strained; I expected to see him shoot across and dig
both teeth and claws into me; yet he came not! I stared at the beast in
a wild fascination of terror. I remember--at that awful moment--being
struck by his aged and unkempt appearance; I remember hearing the
purr gradually give place to a growl of anger, and then all at once
the truth broke on me: that outward and upward spring was beyond the
man-eater; he would not attempt the feat; I was safe!
My courage revived, and with it came a fierce longing to destroy my
tormentor, whose foul breath reached and sickened me even at that
distance. Now, another thought suddenly struck me: was there possibly a
gun of some kind in the house? Hardly; for if so I should probably have
seen it, or Jimmy would have offered me the weapon when I left that
afternoon. Anyhow, I would find out.
"Jimmy!" I bawled, causing the tiger to start angrily.
"Yes, Mr. Geoffrey?"
"The tiger has come on to the veranda roof--as you said; but he can't
manage to spring into the tree, so I'm safe!"
"Oh, I'm so glad! I was----"
"I say, have you a gun?"
"Father took one rifle with him; the other is in the case, locked up,
to keep us from meddling with it."
"Are there cartridges?"
"Yes; a beltful in the case."
"Where's the key?"
"Father has it."
"Jimmy," I rejoined imploringly, "break open the case, load the rifle,
open the door a wee bit, and fire at the beast through the veranda
roof. The bullet will penetrate--I'm sure. He is crouching in a line
with the ventilator, just short of the eave, so you'll know where to
aim. I'll make it right with your father."
"What's the good?" half whimpered the boy. "I don't know how to use a
rifle."
Here was a facer! What more was left? But my brain was busy, and I
determined to die hard. Green as I was, shaken as I was, I resolved to
try and shoot the tiger myself!
"Jimmy, do you think you could manage to pass me the rifle?"
"I will if I can; but how?"
"No use attempting the door--even while the brute is on the veranda
roof; he'd hear you like a shot, and pounce down on you before you
could wink. But could you reach the ventilator window from the inside?
Don't be afraid; it is too small for him to get his head and shoulders
through, so he can't touch you."
"But how am I to do it?"
"Can't you go hand-over-hand up the swing rope, with the rifle and belt
slung on you?"
"Yes, I can," he answered readily.
"Then you could work along the tie beam and reach the window, couldn't
you?"
"I think so; but even if the window is large enough for me, how about
the tiger outside?"
"Tell you what: get the rifle and cartridge belt, climb the swing rope,
making as little noise as possible, and straddle along the tie beam to
the window. Directly I see you there, I'll pretend to descend the tree;
the brute will either drop to the earth from where he now is, or go
round by the wood heap; in either case you could scramble out, chuck me
the rifle and belt, and get through the window again before the tiger
is able to remount the veranda by the wood heap; that is, if he notices
you. Leave the rest to me."
The boy was plucky to the backbone, and immediately agreed to carry out
my instructions. Presently I heard a rending, as of a box being broken
open; then succeeded a silence of several minutes, and finally--to my
joy--I saw the lad cautiously peeping over the window sill. Promptly I
made a show of climbing down, energetically shaking the foliage as I
felt my way to the lower branches. My movement had the desired effect;
the tiger raised himself, growled, and, evidently believing that he had
me, down he dropped with a "thud" to the ground. The coast was clear
for Jimmy!
"Now, Jimmy!" I shouted, frantically reclimbing upward and inward, "out
you get! He's down below!"
Quick as thought Jimmy slipped out the rifle and belt and proceeded to
follow them. With my attention divided between him and the man-eater, I
waited in desperate expectancy, but try as he would, the boy could not
pass through! He essayed head first, then legs first, then this way,
then that way; no, he failed! In my anxiety I had momentarily taken
my eyes off the animal to watch Jimmy. On recollecting myself, and
looking down again, the brute was nowhere to be seen! Merciful heaven!
where had he gone? I peered on all sides, striving to probe the gloom
beyond the rays of my still burning lantern, but I could not see him;
the monster had vanished! While a sensation of superstitious terror
threatened to overwhelm me, a smothered ejaculation of triumph came
from Jimmy; I glanced eagerly in his direction, to find that he had at
last succeeded in getting out! He was in the act of dropping to the
veranda roof, when the scrambling, scratching sound which I had once
before heard that night smote on my ear; the disappearance of the tiger
was no longer a mystery: he was climbing the wood heap!
"Jimmy!" I shrieked, "get back! For your life get back! The tiger's
climbing the stack!"
Whether the boy heard me, understood me, or not, or had taken leave of
his senses, I could not tell, for, instead of obeying me, he clutched
both rifle and belt, and floundered down the slope toward the tree!
At the same moment I saw that the tiger had gained the roof, and was
approaching as fast as he could!
"Back! For mercy's sake, back!" I yelled despairingly; but the next
instant the lad--after giving a hasty glance at the tiger--put
forth all his young strength and hurled the rifle in my direction.
Mechanically I managed to seize the piece as it crashed into the
branches; the belt followed; I secured it, and then the plucky boy,
scurrying up the inclined roof, hauled himself to the window and
wriggled through the aperture not half a second before the man-eater
got up to it! Intensely relieved at Jimmy's miraculous escape, and
burning with fury against the accursed animal--the cause of all our
trouble--I simply sat there and sent bullet after bullet into his vile
carcass, continuing the fusillade till he lay limp and lifeless on the
veranda roof!
No more need be said. I loved that boy, who had shown a courage and
nerve beyond the wildest dreams of fancy. I love him now as a man, with
a reputation for cool pluck and presence of mind, the promise of which
he so signally exhibited on the occasion of my story. When Mr. Simpson
returned, and I told him all, the satisfaction I derived by seeing the
tears of admiration that dimmed his eyes as I described his son's
gallantry more than compensated me for my own somewhat unpleasant share
in that ever memorable adventure.
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415--Buffalo Bill's Cumbres Scouts; or, The Wild Pigs Corralled.
416--Buffalo Bill and the Man-wolf; or, The Mystery of the Adobe
Castle.
417--Buffalo Bill and His Winged Pard; or, Indian Against Indian.
418--Buffalo Bill at Babylon Bar; or, The Mountain Pirates.
419--Buffalo Bill's Long Arm; or, The Game-cock of Shasta.
420--Buffalo Bill and Old Weasel-top; or, The Man From Nowhar.
421--Buffalo Bill's Steel Arm Pard; or, Old Weasel-top's Mission.
422--Buffalo Bill's Aztec Guide; or, The White Indian.
423--Buffalo Bill and Little Firefly; or, Playing with Death.
424--Buffalo Bill in the Aztec City; or, Little Firefly's Friendship.
425--Buffalo Bill's Balloon Escape; or, Out of the Grip of the Great
Swamp.
426--Buffalo Bill and the Guerrillas; or, The Flower Girl of San
Felipe.
BRAVE AND BOLD WEEKLY
All kinds of stories that boys like. The biggest and best nickel's
worth ever offered. =High art colored covers. Thirty-two big pages.
Price, 5 cents.=
331--Two Chums Afloat; or, The Cruise of the "Arrow." By Cornelius
Shea.
332--In the Path of Duty; or, The Fortunes of Officer Dan Deering. By
Harrie Irving Hancock.
333--A Bid for Fortune; or, True as Steel. By Fred Thorpe.
334--A Battle with Fate; or, The Baseball Mascot. By Weldon J. Cobb.
335--Three Brave Boys; or, Adventures in the Balloon World. By Frank
Sheridan.
336--Archie Atwood, Champion; or, An All-around Athlete's Career. By
Cornelius Shea.
337--Dick Stanhope Afloat; or, The Eventful Cruise of the _Elsinore_.
By Harrie Irving Hancock.
338--Working His Way Upward; or, From Footlights to Riches. By Fred
Thorpe.
339--The Fourteenth Boy; or, How Vin Lovell Won Out. By Weldon J.
Cobb.
340--Among the Nomads; or, Life in the Open. By the author of
"Through Air to Fame."
341--Bob, the Acrobat; or, Hustle and Win Out. By Harrie Irving
Hancock.
342--Through the Earth; or, Jack Nelson's Invention. By Fred Thorpe.
343--The Boy Chief; or, Comrades of Camp and Trail. By John De Morgan.
MOTOR STORIES
The latest and best five-cent weekly. We won't say how interesting it
is. See for yourself. =High art colored covers. Thirty-two big pages.
Price, 5 cents.=
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, Castaway in the Bahamas.
13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.
14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the _Hawk_.
15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the _Grampus_.
16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.
17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos.
18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.
19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn.
20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.
_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, " ________________________________
DIAMOND DICK WEEKLY, " ________________________________
BUFFALO BILL STORIES, " ________________________________
BRAVE AND BOLD WEEKLY, " ________________________________
MOTOR STORIES, " ________________________________
_Name_ ________________ _Street_ ________________
_City_ ________________ _State_ ________________
A GREAT SUCCESS!!
MOTOR STORIES
Every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of Motor Matt, which
are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and
delighted. Surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we
are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of
the stories, second only to those published in the Tip Top Weekly.
Matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are
unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can
clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them.
_HERE ARE THE TITLES NOW READY AND THOSE TO BE PUBLISHED_:
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.
13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.
14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the "Hawk."
15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the "Grampus."
16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.
17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos.
18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.
19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn.
20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.
To be Published on July 12th.
21--Motor Matt's Launch; or, A Friend in Need.
To be Published on July 19th.
22--Motor Matt's Enemies; or, A Struggle for the Right.
To be Published on July 26th.
23--Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins.
To be Published on August 2nd.
24--Motor Matt on the Wing; or, Flying for Fame and Fortune.
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:
Added table of contents.
Bold is represented with =equal signs=; italics with _underscores_.
Retained inconsistent spacing of "houseboat" vs. "house boat."
Replaced oe ligatures with "oe" -- ligatures retained in HTML edition.
Page 9, removed unnecessary comma from "rope down." Corrected "You're"
to "Your" in "Your father was a rowdy."
Page 12, added missing quote after "see if they come back."
Page 15, added missing "ing" to "catching Red-whiskers."
Page 18, corrected double comma after "a humorous glance at Ross and
Kinky." Corrected typo "bame" in "only yourself to blame."
Page 19, added missing open quote to "Don't be a fool!"
Page 23, capitalized "Wait" in "Wait until we can get."
Page 25, corrected "yawninig" to "yawning."
Page 30, corrected typo "ventilater" in "upper ventilator windows."
End of Project Gutenberg's Motor Matt's Launch, by Stanley R. Matthews