THE COIL TIGHTENS.
Matt's brain was a jumble of vague and half-formed ideas. He did not
seem able to grasp any notion firmly, or hold to it realizingly. As his
brain began to clear, its first lucid thought had to do with the rifle
shot and the man in the automobile. Instinctively he turned his head so
that he could have a view of the road.
The automobile had come to a halt a little distance away. The woman,
who had been riding in the tonneau and who must have given the scream
which was still echoing in Matt's ears, had thrown open the car door
and stepped down from the machine.
She was young and pretty, wore a long dust-coat and had the ends of a
veil flying out behind her well-shaped head.
Matt shifted his eyes to Murgatroyd. The latter was coolly getting out
of the car. Reaching back, as soon as his feet had touched ground, he
pulled a rifle from one of the seats, turned and walked a little way
toward Matt, halted and leaned on the gun. He did not speak, but his
dark, piercing eyes roved over Matt and then leaped on beyond, to where
the aëroplane was lying.
Matt withdrew his gaze to give it to Murgatroyd's fair companion.
"Are you hurt?" cried the girl, as Motor Matt lifted himself and looked
toward her.
"What is it to you, or that scoundrel with you, whether I am hurt or
not?" he answered angrily.
A hurt look crossed the girl's face. She had been hurrying toward Matt,
but she now paused and drew back.
"Your business is with me, Motor Matt, and not with my niece," snapped
Murgatroyd sharply. "She doesn't know anything about our affairs, and
is undoubtedly feeling hard toward me because I fired that shot and
brought you down."
"Why did you do that, Uncle Amos?" demanded the girl shrilly. "You
might have killed him!"
"No danger of that, Amy," was the cool answer. "I shouldn't have tried
to bring him down if he had been high enough in the air for the fall to
hurt him."
"Why did you try to bring him down, anyhow?"
The girl's alarm was merging rapidly into indignation and protest.
"Well," said Murgatroyd, "I wanted to talk with him, and he didn't seem
at all anxious to stay alongside the automobile."
"So you ruined his flying machine and took the chance of hurting him!"
"Get back in the car, Amy," ordered Murgatroyd sharply. "You don't
understand what you are talking about. This young rascal deserves all
he receives at my hands, and more."
"He doesn't look like a rascal, or----"
"Will you mind?"
Murgatroyd turned and pointed toward the car. The girl hesitated a
moment, then walked slowly back to the automobile and climbed into the
tonneau.
Matt, meantime, had picked himself up, glad to find that he had no
broken bones. He was bruised and sore, and his coat was torn, but he
did not care for that. He had had a lucky escape, and just at that
moment was more concerned about the aëroplane than he was about himself.
The flying machine, so far as Matt could see, did not appear to be very
badly broken.
"I'll hold you responsible for this, Amos Murgatroyd," said Matt,
turning on the broker. "It was an unprovoked attack."
"You've given me plenty of cause to lay violent hands on you,"
answered Murgatroyd. "What are you doing in this part of the country?"
"That's my business, not yours."
A snaky, malevolent smile crossed Murgatroyd's smooth face.
"It may be my business, too," said he. "You asked for the Traquair
homestead. Is it your intention to go there?"
"I don't care to discuss that point with you. Just understand that
you'll be called on to answer for all the trouble you have caused me
and also Mrs. Traquair. This scoundrelly attack on my aëroplane will
come in for part of the accounting."
"Yes?" was the sarcastic response. "The machine, to look at it from
here, hasn't the appearance of being very badly hurt. Suppose we give
it a closer inspection?"
Matt wondered at the man's desire to learn more about the damage to the
aëroplane. It was an hour or so before the reason was made clear to him.
Keeping a wary eye on Murgatroyd's rifle, Matt stepped over to the
aëroplane.
The bullet had struck one of the propeller blades, snapping it off. The
blade, in turn, had struck and cut through one of the small wire cables
that formed a stay for the rear rudder.
"You've put the machine out of business," said Matt. "The fall, too,
may have damaged the motor pretty seriously. I can't tell that until I
make a closer examination."
"It will take you an hour or two, I suppose, to get the machine
repaired?"
"An hour or two!" exclaimed Matt. "I shall have to get some farmer to
haul it to the blacksmith shop, in Sykestown."
A guileful grin swept like an ill-omened shadow across Murgatroyd's
face. Without another word he went to the automobile, climbed to the
driver's seat, leaned the rifle against the seat beside him, and
started the car. He did not continue on toward Sykestown, but made a
turn and went back over the course he had recently covered.
"The scoundrel!" cried Matt. "He knew I was here to do what I could
for Mrs. Traquair--that question I asked him about the homestead would
have proven that, even if he had not guessed it from the mere fact of
my being in this section. He injured the aëroplane to keep me from
carrying out any plan I might have for the rescue of Mrs. Traquair. He
knows it will take me some time to get the aëroplane fixed, and while
I'm doing that he'll be moving Mrs. Traquair from the homestead to some
other place. That's why he was so anxious to find out how badly the
machine was damaged. If it hadn't been seriously broken, no doubt he'd
have put another bullet into it. He'll pay for this if I've anything to
say about it."
For a few moments Matt sat down on the prairie and looked ruefully at
the helpless aëroplane.
This reverse meant much to Motor Matt. Quite likely it would prevent
the sale of the machine to the government, for it was now practically
certain the aëroplane could not be repaired and turned over to the
government for shipment east by the first of the month. This would
have been impossible, even if Matt had had leisure to repair the
damage--which he did not have on account of the necessity he was under
of helping Mrs. Traquair.
How far back on the road the last house was situated Matt could not
remember. He would have to go there, however, and hire the farmer to
transport the aëroplane to Sykestown. The quicker this was done, and
the sooner the damage was repaired, then the more speedily he could use
the machine in helping Mrs. Traquair.
If repairs were going to consume too much time, then he could join
Cameron, McGlory, and Ping and go to the Traquair homestead in the
lieutenant's borrowed motor car.
Greatly cast down by his reverse, yet firmly determined to carry out
his original purpose at any cost, Matt set his face back along the road.
He was guessing good and hard about the young woman who was in the
automobile with Murgatroyd. She was the broker's niece, but she was
not in favor of any of his villainous designs--that fact was beyond
dispute. If the girl felt in this way, why had Murgatroyd had her along
while pursuing his dark schemes against Mrs. Traquair?
It was an enigma that baffled Matt. He gave up trying to guess it, and
began reproaching himself for becoming so easily entangled with the
motor car and its scoundrelly owner. He should have made sure that the
man was not an enemy before bringing the aëroplane so close.
It is always easy to look back over our conduct and discover the
mistakes. In the present case, Matt was blaming himself when there was
really no cause for it. If anything was at fault it was fate, which had
brought the disastrous encounter to pass.
Every step Matt took reminded him of his bruises. His head throbbed and
every bone in his body seemed to ache. He continued to stride rapidly
onward, however, keeping his eyes constantly ahead in the hope of
discovering a farmhouse.
Suddenly he saw a fog of dust rising from the trail in the distance.
The cloud was moving toward him and he had a quick thought that it
might be the automobile. The next moment the dust was whipped aside by
the rising wind, and he was sure of it.
The car was coming, but there was only one man in the driver's seat.
The girl had vanished from the tonneau.
"Murgatroyd took her to some farmhouse," ran Matt's startled thought,
"and he is coming back to try some more villainous work." The young
motorist's fists clinched instinctively, and a fierce gleam darted into
his gray eyes. "We'll see about that," he muttered, between his teeth.
The automobile came on swiftly, and Murgatroyd brought it to a
standstill close beside Matt.
"Get in here," the broker ordered, nodding his head toward the tonneau.
"I've got other business on hand," answered Matt. "If you're going on
to finish wrecking the aëroplane----"
"Don't be a fool!" snarled the broker, standing up and lifting his
rifle. "I've invited you to get into the car, but I can _order_, if you
force me to do that, and back up the order with this gun."
"You've used that gun once to-day, Murgatroyd," said Matt, giving the
broker a defiant look, "and I guess you'll find that's enough."
He passed on along the roadside close to the side of the automobile.
The door of the tonneau was open. As he came abreast of it, a form that
had been hiding in the bottom of the car leaped out.
Matt, taken by surprise, tried to leap away. Before he could do so,
however, he was in the grip of a pair of strong arms, and the face of
Siwash Charley was leering into his.
"This hyer's once things didn't come yer way, my bantam!" gritted
Siwash Charley. "Stop yer squirmin', or I'll give ye a tap on the head
that'll put ye out o' bizness."