A STARTLING PLAN.
"What's up, Matt?" asked Cameron. "You've been sending telegrams from
the post, and here's an answer to one of them."
Matt repeated Hackberry's story, then showed the lieutenant the ragged
note and the letter.
"It's a fishy yarn," mused Cameron. "For a clever man of business, like
Murgatroyd, to extort a quitclaim deed from a woman in that way is rank
foolishness, say nothing of the criminal part of it, which is very apt
to get the scoundrel into trouble. No, I can't believe Murgatroyd would
do such a thing. Who is this fellow Hackberry?"
"He says he has a claim joining Traquair's on the----"
"Yes, I know what he says, but where is the proof that what he says is
true? This villain, Siwash Charley, is a bitter enemy of yours, Matt,
and he isn't likely to stop at anything."
Matt told Cameron of the messages sent to Mrs. Traquair and to Matthews.
"I haven't heard from Mrs. Traquair," he finished, "but here's the
message from Matthews."
Cameron read it over, his brow clouding.
"Do you know Matthews very well, Matt?" he inquired.
"Yes. He's a friend of Mrs. Traquair's and no friend of Murgatroyd's."
"Then his word, in this matter, ought to be as good as his bond. But,
how in Heaven's name, was it possible for Mrs. Traquair to let herself
be spirited away?"
"Murgatroyd is a loan shark," explained Matt, "and he is full of
plausible tricks. He's not in Jamestown, and Mrs. Traquair isn't there.
Hackberry's story, hard as it is to believe, in some respects, is
beginning to prove itself."
"I don't like it, anyhow," and Cameron shook his head forebodingly.
"That's the way I stack up," declared McGlory. "I've got a hunch that
there's a screw loose in all this crossfire of talk and letters--talk
through knot holes and letters pushed through the walls of houses.
Rot!" he grunted disgustedly.
"Maybe there's nothing in Hackberry's yarn," said Matt decisively, "but
I can't turn my back on it. If Mrs. Traquair is in trouble, I must do
what I can to help her out."
"Sufferin' brain twisters!" cried McGlory. "Why didn't she let
Hackberry bring the deputy sheriff from Sykestown? But, no. She had to
send Hackberry over here, using up two valuable days, just to get you."
"Murgatroyd might have spies in Sykestown watching the deputy sheriff,"
replied Matt. "It would be easy for the spy to carry a warning to the
Traquair homestead and have the man in charge of the shack remove Mrs.
Traquair to some other place."
"Gammon!" snorted McGlory. "Somebody's playin' lame duck, you hear me."
Cameron brightened suddenly.
"You got a letter from Mrs. Traquair the other day, didn't you, Matt?"
he asked.
"That was a week ago," answered Matt.
"How does the handwriting compare? Is it the same in the letter as it
is in these two scraps brought in by Hackberry?"
Matt rummaged through his satchel and brought out Mrs. Traquair's
letter. Then they all, even Ping, began comparing the writing.
"I give up," said Cameron. "The writing's the same. Suppose we take
the train for Sykestown to-morrow, Matt, and go to the rescue of Mrs.
Traquair?"
"There's no train out of Carrington until day after to-morrow," said
Matt.
"Let's get a hand car, or one of these gasoline speeders, and go over
the branch to Sykestown," suggested McGlory.
Matt's eyes sparkled at mention of the gasoline speeder, for as yet he
had had no experience with one of them.
"We wouldn't be liable to find such a thing as a 'speeder' in a small
place like Carrington," said he.
"Then we'll get an automobile from Devil's Lake City," put in Cameron.
"By Jupiter, Matt, I'm pretty nearly as warm about this business as you
are. An automobile, that's the thing!"
"It might be hard to get one," continued Matt. "You fellows can come in
an automobile, but I think I'll go by air line."
"Air line?" echoed the lieutenant, puzzled.
"Yes," was the quiet reply. "Two hours' work will finish the aëroplane,
and----"
"Great Scott!" exclaimed the lieutenant, aghast; "it's a new and
untried machine. You don't know whether it will fly or not."
"If it won't fly, then the government won't buy it, and it will be a
good thing for us to know that as soon as possible. But it will fly,
Cameron."
"But, listen," proceeded Cameron gravely. "You're proposing a
two-hundred-mile flight, straight away--something unheard of in the use
of aëroplanes. Heavier-than-air machines have only been tried over a
prescribed course, up to now--from the starting point, through the air,
and then back to the starting point again. This plan of yours, Matt,
looks like madness to me."
"It would be a fine introduction of the machine to the tests at Fort
Myer if it could be said that the aëroplane sailed for two hundred
miles over a straight-away course!"
Matt's face glowed at the thought. To do something different, something
daring that would advance the science of aviation, _that_ would
certainly be worth while.
"Besides this," pursued Matt earnestly, "I'll have an advantage over
Murgatroyd and his villainous helpers. They will not be expecting a
rescue through the air, while they may be prepared to ward off one
by automobile. It is not impossible," he finished, with a trace of
enthusiasm, "that I may be able to pick Mrs. Traquair up and bring her
to Fort Totten in the aëroplane. Think of that! She would be rescued by
her husband's invention."
"You wouldn't get her to ride in that aëroplane in a thousand years,"
declared McGlory. "She's scared of it, and has been even before her
husband was killed. Shucks! Give it up pard, and go with us in the
automobile."
Matt shook his head.
"I'm going in the machine," he answered. "You fellows can follow in the
automobile."
"Follow! Speak to me about that. Why, pard, if the automobile is any
good at all we'll lead you all the way to Wells County."
"Not if there's no wind, or only a very little. I figure that the new
aëroplane can do better than sixty miles an hour. But let's get busy,
Joe; there's more work to be done."
Cameron left at once to go across the lake and secure an automobile,
Ping proceeded to get supper, and Matt and McGlory put their finishing
touches on the aëroplane's motor.
"Here's a thing you haven't thought of, pard," remarked McGlory, when
the last bolt had been tightened, "and that's about sending this
machine to Washington. If anything happens to it, or if you're delayed
in Wells County, there's fifteen thousand gone up the spout."
"The money is not to be considered if there's a chance of helping Mrs.
Traquair," returned Matt.
But the possibility opened up by McGlory filled the king of the motor
boys with regret. He had set his heart on building the new aëroplane,
putting it to the test and then selling it to the government just as he
had sold the first one. This particular machine was the work of his own
hands, while the other had been Traquair's. He was proud of it, and it
struck a pang to his heart to think there was even a bare chance of his
not being able to turn the machine over to the government, now that it
was built. However, he put his regret resolutely behind him.
"I'm not looking for a reverse, Joe," said he, "at this stage of the
game. Luck's been on my side for quite a while, and I don't believe it
will go back on me. I have yet to be caught in a losing cause--and this
won't be a losing cause if we can find and rescue Mrs. Traquair."
At that moment Ping showed himself around the lower end of the tent and
shouted, in his high cackle, "Suppa' leddy!"
The boys ate supper. There was not much talk during the meal, for all
were thoughtful, and McGlory, at least, was troubled with forebodings.
The meal over, Matt and McGlory tried the motor. It failed to work
as it should, and Matt kept at it until it was going properly. Then,
cautiously, he turned the power into the propeller. The machine,
when started according to custom, got its initial impetus by having
the power applied to a set of bicycle wheels. The blades of the
propeller, slapping the air, however, developed a force that started
the aëroplane, and Matt had to shut off the power in a hurry.
"Sufferin' race horses!" murmured the astonished McGlory. "Who ever
heard of the like of that?"
"Mr. Maxim discovered it first," replied Matt. "Why, he drove a boat
through the water, at the rate of six miles an hour, merely by having a
propeller turn in the air! But let's go to bed; we've a lot on hand for
to-morrow."
If the intrepid king of the motor boys had only guessed what was
waiting for him in Wells County, his sleep would probably not have been
so sound or so peaceful as it was.