THE DOOR IN THE HILLSIDE.
In spite of Siwash Charley's threat, Matt struggled as fiercely as he
could. With a muttered curse, the ruffian drew back one fist.
"Steady there, Siwash!" cried Murgatroyd. "Don't be any rougher with
him than you can help. Wait! I'll come down there and lend a hand while
we get a rope on him."
Murgatroyd picked up a rope from the bottom of the car, jumped to the
ground and came rapidly up behind Matt. Between the two of them, the
scoundrels succeeded in bearing the young motorist to the ground and
putting lashings on his hands and feet.
Siwash Charley lifted himself scowling and drew his shirt sleeve across
his damp forehead.
"He's a fighter, all right," he muttered, "but he kin gamble on it that
we've got the upper hand o' him now."
"You took the girl away and got Siwash Charley, eh, Murgatroyd?" asked
Matt.
"You're a young man of rare perception," was the broker's sarcastic
response.
"You'll both pay for this," went on Matt steadily.
"Who'll make us pay?" grunted Siwash Charley. "Not you, my bantam. I've
got inter enough trouble on your account, an' I ain't intendin' ter git
inter any more."
This was a luminous remark of Siwash Charley's. Matt would have liked
to ask him how he expected to keep out of trouble by continuing his
lawless work, but there was not time. Lifting the prisoner roughly
Siwash Charley heaved him onto the seat in the tonneau, and slammed the
door; then Siwash got up in front. Murgatroyd was turning the engine
over. When he was done, he climbed to the driver's seat and started the
car. He did not go on toward Sykestown, but, as before, made in the
opposite direction.
"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Matt.
"Ye'll know," answered Siwash Charley, turning around savagely, "when
ye find out--an' not afore."
"Where are you taking me?" persisted Matt.
"Ye'll find that out quicker'n ye'll find out the other."
There was clearly no satisfaction to be got out of Siwash Charley.
"Something will happen to that aëroplane," said Matt, "if it's left
alone on the prairie."
"Don't worry erbout that thar flyin' machine. We're goin' ter take keer
o' it."
"Murgatroyd," cried Matt, "if you do any more injury to that machine,
you'll have to pay for it."
"Sing small," answered the broker, giving all his attention to his
driving; "you'll be a whole lot wiser before I'm done with you."
"That machine," went on Matt, "is to be delivered to the government,
at Fort Totten, on the first of next month. If it isn't, I'll lose the
sale of it. If you keep me from making the sale, you'll have to pay the
government price--fifteen thousand dollars."
Siwash Charley lay back in his seat and guffawed loudly.
"Talks big, don't he, Murg?" said he.
"Talk's cheap," was the laconic answer.
Owing to his bonds, Matt had difficulty in keeping himself upright on
the seat while the automobile pitched and slewed along the road.
When two or three miles had been covered, Murgatroyd turned the machine
from the road and drove toward a range of hills, or coteaus, that
fringed the horizon in the northwest.
Over the crisp, crackling grass the heavy car passed, now and then
chugging into a gopher hole and slamming Matt around in the tonneau.
When they had reached the foot of the hills, Murgatroyd followed along
the foot of the range and finally halted.
"This will do," said the broker. "Take the ropes off his feet, Siwash,
and make him walk. I guess he won't try to get away. You can keep a
grip on him and I'll trail along with the rifle."
"Oh, I guess he won't try any foolishness with me," cried Siwash,
swinging down from the car, "not if he knows what's best fer him."
Opening the tonneau door, Siwash Charley reached in and removed the
rope from Matt's ankles.
"Come out here," he ordered.
Murgatroyd stood up in front, rifle in hand, and watched to see that
the order was obeyed. Matt supposed that all this was to keep him from
going to Traquair's homestead and helping Mrs. Traquair. But, bound as
he was, and with two desperate men for captors, he was helpless.
Without a word he got up and stepped out of the car. Siwash Charley
caught his arm and led him toward a steep hillside, Murgatroyd
following with the rifle. At the foot of the almost perpendicular wall
of earth they stopped.
"Hold the gun on him, Murg," said Siwash, "while I fix the winder so'st
ter throw a little light inter the dugout."
"Go ahead," answered the broker curtly.
Siwash stepped apart. Matt, with ill-concealed astonishment, saw him
push a hand along the hillside and push back a square curtain of
canvas painted the color of the yellowish brown of the dried grass. A
small window was revealed. To the right of the window another curtain
was lifted, disclosing a door. Siwash opened the door and stepped back
with an ill-omened grin.
"Conduct the gent inter the hang-out, Murg," he leered.
"Go on," ordered Murgatroyd, touching Matt with the muzzle of the rifle.
"What kind of a place is this?" asked Matt, hesitating.
"Look at it from the inside an' mebby ye'll have a better notion of
it," answered Siwash, grabbing Matt's arm and hustling him through the
doorway.
Motor Matt's heart sank when he looked around at the earthen walls of
the excavation. It looked like a prison, and undoubtedly it was to be a
prison for him.
"I'll make him lay down on the shelf," observed Siwash, "an' tie him
thar."
"Put him in a chair and tie him to that," said Murgatroyd. "He'll have
to lie down at night, and change of position will be something of a
rest for him. I don't want to be any rougher than we have to."
"Bah!" snorted Siwash. "From the way ye talk, Murg, a person 'u'd think
ye had a weak heart. But I know diff'rent. I shouldn't think ye'd be so
onreasonable when ye stop ter think o' the hole this feller's got us
both inter."
"He's going to get us out of the hole, and give me something I've set
my heart on, besides. I reckon he's entitled to all the consideration
we can give him."
Siwash kicked a chair forward and pushed Matt into it; then, with
another rope, he tied the prisoner with coil on coil, drawn taut about
his legs, waist, and shoulders. When Siwash was done, Matt could hardly
shift his position an inch.
"Now," proceeded Murgatroyd briskly, "we'll have to hurry. I left my
niece at a farmhouse, and I want to get back there and make sure that
she doesn't cause any trouble."
"Trouble? What kind o' trouble kin she make?"
"She's not used to this sort of work, and it was tough luck that she
was in the car when Motor Matt came along in that flying machine. She's
very much put out with me because I fired a bullet into the aëroplane
in order to stop Motor Matt. She's a girl of spirit, and I must talk
with her to make sure she doesn't do something that will play hob with
my plans."
"Wimmen ain't no good, anyhow," growled Siwash Charley. "Will ye go
right on ter Sykestown ter-night?"
"I think not. It will be best to stay at the farmhouse until I make
sure whether my talk will do any good. If I think Amy will leave my
hands free, we'll make for town in the morning."
Murgatroyd turned to Matt.
"Where's McGlory?" he asked.
"I don't know," Matt answered.
"Was he to meet you in Sykestown?"
Matt was silent.
"Ye kin gamble, Murg, that cowboy feller was ter meet him some'r's.
Wharever ye find one of 'em ye're purty sure ter find t'other. I'm
wonderin' why McGlory wasn't in the flyin' machine along with Motor
Matt."
"If they were to meet anywhere," said Murgatroyd, "it was in Sykestown.
Motor Matt would hardly try to rescue Mrs. Traquair alone."
A snaky smile accompanied the last words. Siwash Charley chuckled.
"It worked like a house afire," the latter muttered.
"Bring writing materials, Siwash," said the broker.
The other went to a box cupboard, swinging against the wall, and
brought out some paper and envelopes, a bottle of ink and a pen. These
he placed on the table in front of Murgatroyd.
"How many letters ye goin' ter write, Murg?" queried Siwash, hanging
expectantly over the table.
"Three," replied the broker. "One letter will be sent to Lieutenant
Cameron, another to Joe McGlory, and another to Mrs. Traquair."
Matt could not understand these allusions to Mrs. Traquair. If she was
a prisoner at the homestead, why was Murgatroyd writing a letter?
It required an hour's time to write the three letters. Murgatroyd
allowed Siwash to read each one as soon as it was finished.
Siwash became jubilant as the reading progressed. When the last letter
had been gone over, he brought his fist down on the table with a
smashing blow.
"They'll do the trick, by jinks!" he declared. "Ye'll git what ye're
arter, Murg, an' so'll I. Thunder, but I wisht I had your head!"
"It takes something of a head to make money and keep out of jail, these
times," laughed Murgatroyd, getting up.
The letters were folded and put in the addressed envelopes, and
Murgatroyd slipped the three missives into his pocket.
"I'm off, now, Siwash," said he, stepping toward the door. "It may take
a week to wind up this business, and it may not take more than three
days. See that the prisoner don't get away, whatever you do."
"Waal, ye kin bank on me from the drap o' the hat!" cried Siwash
Charley effusively. "Blamed if I ever had anythin' ter do with sich a
slick game as this afore, an' it does me proud ter have a hand in it.
Count on me, Murg, count on me!"
With a derisive grin at Motor Matt, Murgatroyd stepped through the door
in the hillside. A few moments later Matt could hear his automobile
gliding off across the prairie.