THE OAK OPENING.
Reid's Lake was a popular resort, and a large crowd rendezvoused there
on Sundays and holidays. The coming of the crowd, however, had shifted
to the beginning of the day, so that the start of the aëroplane might
be witnessed.
Owing to Burton's enterprise, an "extra" of one of the evening dailies
was on the Grand Rapids streets at nine in the evening, announcing, in
large type, that Boss Burton, regretting the disappointment caused the
Grand Rapids people because of the failure of the aëroplane ascensions
on the first day of the show, was glad to announce that the king of the
motor boys would take his famous machine aloft on the following morning
at nine o'clock.
This was one of the little things Burton could do, on occasion, which
jarred on Matt's nerves. He made it appear in the news columns as
though Matt was making the ascension because Burton had so willed it,
and as though the showman had willed it because of the disappointment
which had been caused the Great Rapids people on the first day of the
show.
When Matt discovered this, it was too late to remedy it. He had the
satisfaction, however, of telling Burton just what he thought.
Extra cars were put on the run between town and the lake to accommodate
the crowds. And the people came not only in the street cars, but also
in carriages, wagons, and automobiles.
Carl and Ping had slept under the lower wings of the _Comet_, as was
their usual custom when the weather was at all propitious, and to
the casual observer it would have looked as though the Roman-candle
incident had been entirely forgotten.
Matt was early at the machine, looking it over carefully and making
sure that everything was in readiness. The _Comet_, he found, had never
been in better trim for work than she was that morning.
Then, too, such a day for aëroplane flying could not have been
surpassed. There was not enough wind stirring to flutter the banners on
the tent tops.
It was necessary for McGlory, Twomley, and Burton to get away somewhat
in advance of Matt, and to take up a position beyond the outskirts of
the city on the Elgin road. At sharp eight-forty-five the motor car
got away.
McGlory was usually in charge of the start during the aëroplane
flights, but now Matt placed Carl in command. The importance of the
position filled Carl with glory, and was correspondingly depressing to
Ping, who really knew more about the aëroplane than Carl could have
learned in a hundred years.
Carl and Ping were assisted by half a dozen stout canvasmen.
Before Matt took his seat, to the wonder of the crowd pressing against
the guard ropes, he shook out a white robe and arranged it about him in
such a manner as to leave his arms perfectly clear, but covering every
part of his clothing.
After that he stepped on the footboard and dropped down in front of the
motor.
The canvasmen, divided by Carl into two groups of three each, were
placed behind the wings.
"All ready, Carl!" called Matt.
"Retty it iss!" shouted Carl.
The motor started merrily, the bicycle wheels began to turn, and the
canvasmen to push.
Slowly the _Comet_ gathered headway. Faster and faster it went, leaving
the canvasmen behind; then, like a great bird, it soared into the air,
followed by wild cheering.
A vagrant puff of wind struck the planes, just over the concert garden,
and only quick work on the part of the intrepid young motorist averted
a disaster. Gathering headway under the impetus of the thrashing
propeller, the aëroplane darted upward into the blue and began reaching
out toward the city.
Matt, while manipulating the aëroplane, had little time for sights and
scenes below him. He was obliged to keep every faculty riveted on his
work. Now and again, however, as he took his bearings and laid his
course, he glimpsed the staring people in the roadways and on rooftops.
Some of these spectators had opera glasses and binoculars.
Over the flat roofs of the city he whirled, cheered almost continuously.
The motor had never worked better. Everything depended on the motor.
If the power had happened to fail, Matt could have glided harmlessly
down the airy slope to earth--providing the city afforded him a good
clear space in which to alight. A street zigzagged with telegraph, and
telephone, and electric light wires was not such a place.
Passing the close-packed buildings of the business section, Matt gained
the residence districts, and held on in a straight line for the Elgin
road. He watched his landmarks, and, while they looked differently to
him from aloft than they did from the ground, he knew he was going
right when he saw the waiting automobile.
McGlory was standing up and waving his hat.
Throwing full speed into the propeller, Matt set the automobile a
fifty-mile pace. At such a speed only a few minutes were necessary to
carry the flying machine close to the oak opening where Ben Ali was to
be in waiting for Dhondaram.
Peering forward and downward, Matt guided and manoeuvred the _Comet_ by
sense of touch alone, watching eagerly the while for the great gap in
the woods.
Finally he saw it, and what he glimpsed in the centre of the cleared
space--etched into his brain as by the instantaneous operation of a
photographic lens--was startling, to say the least.
The irregular circle of the opening was crossed through its centre
by the hard, level road. Off to one side of the road were the dying
embers of a fire, and near the fire lay a bundle, on which a young
woman was sitting, her head bowed dejectedly. A turbaned figure stood
at a distance from the girl--the figure covered with a red robe and
its brown, staring face uplifted. This was Ben Ali. And the girl--who
was she? Was it possible, _could_ it be possible, that the girl was
Margaret Manners? A wild hope leaped in Motor Matt's breast.
Ben Ali leaned on a club, leaned and watched with never a move
toward running away. Probably he was speculating as to whether his
confederate, Dhondaram, had learned to operate the air craft.
Matt gave Ben Ali scant time to come to a conclusion. Quick work was
now in order, and the _Comet_ ducked downward and slid through the air
with slowing motor. Guided by a true, steady hand, the wheels brushed
the roadway, then began to turn as the weight of the machine rested
more heavily upon them. A short run of a dozen feet brought the _Comet_
to a stop.
Ben Ali had not stirred from the place where Matt had first seen him
standing.
Gathering the white robe about him, Motor Matt stepped hurriedly to the
ground and ran toward Ben Ali.
The Hindoo, staring serpent-like, recoiled, his red robe falling away
slightly as his hands raised the club.
"Ben Ali," cried the king of the motor boys, "I have caught you at
another of your tricks. Did you think I was Dhondaram? Dhondaram is a
prisoner, and you will soon join him in jail."
There followed a tense moment, during which Ben Ali's eyes glowed and
scintillated with their marvelous powers, and his hands tightened on
the bludgeon.
It was not a time to delay matters, and the young motorist made ready
for desperate work against the arrival of the automobile.
"_Maskee!_" cried the astounded Hindoo, as Motor Matt leaped at him.
Ben Ali's amazement appeared to hold him paralyzed for the moment. It
was not until Matt had caught the club that he aroused himself and
began vigorous resistance.
Every instant Matt expected the automobile to come whirling to the spot
with his friends.
He had the club, but Ben Ali, with a tigrish spring, seized him about
the throat and clung to him like a leech, and all the while Ben Ali's
eyes were rolling about in a way that was horrible to behold.
Matt dropped the club to catch at the Hindoo's straining arms. He felt
a wave of weakness sweep through him, while the flashing eyes continued
to exercise their baneful spell.
Was he being hypnotized in spite of himself? He had read that this was
impossible, and that no man could be put in a state of hypnosis against
his will. Yet what did that strange weakness mean?
A tremor ran through Matt's body. He tried to call aloud, but his lips
framed voiceless words. By degrees he felt himself growing weaker and
weaker, yielding more and more to the spell of the baneful orbs that
sought his undoing.
Then, when it seemed as though he was about to come entirely under Ben
Ali's power, there fell a blow--sudden, quick, and accompanied by a
wild, feminine cry.
Ben Ali's tense fingers relaxed their grip, his form slumped forward,
and Matt stood staring at the girl.
She was Margaret Manners, there was not the least doubt of that. In
order to save him, the girl had seized the bludgeon, had approached her
uncle from behind, and struck him down.
The girl's face was wild with grief, but there was a burning resolution
in the eyes.
"I had to!" she cried hysterically. "I had to do that in order to save
you. It was the spell, the spell of the eyes! He would have made you
his victim, Motor Matt, just as certainly as he has worked his will
with me! Oh, let us get away from here! Quick!" In a frenzy of fear
she cast aside the club and seized his arm with both hands. "There are
others--Aurung Zeeb is one. They are armed, and they will soon be here."
Matt dashed a hand across his forehead, as though to free his brain
from some frightful dream.
"There are others, you say?" he gasped.
"Yes, yes," she answered distractedly.
"Where?"
"Watching the road! They---- Ah, too late, too late!"
Matt whirled and looked across the oak opening. From the side lying
nearest the town came a running figure. It was Aurung Zeeb.
Where was the automobile? Matt could not hear it, and there was now no
time to wait.
The girl had dropped to her knees and thrown her hands over her face.
"Come!" he called, bending down and catching her by the arm. "We can
get away from here. Be brave, and trust to me!"
The girl started up, and he ran with her toward the aëroplane. As they
drew near the machine, Matt saw another Hindoo coming into the opening
along the other road.